One Step Closer
by ryiah03
Summary: My name is Quinn Fabray. I used to be a spy. Until...
1. Chapter 0: Prologue

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

**A/N 1: So, I chose to write a prologue for this story. Enjoy!**

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><p>"People with happy families don't become spies. A bad childhood is the perfect background for covert ops. You don't trust anyone, you're used to getting smacked around, and you never get homesick." – Michael Westen<p>

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><p><strong>Prologue<strong>

The tall man shoved his fist on the prisoner's face in front of him, effectively sending the bloody man flying across the room still bound in the wooden chair.

"Marcus." The man talks to the prisoner in a cold voice. "Don't you think you've had enough? All you have to do is tell me where Simon is." He says in a tone that would scare anyone who's not used to the chaotic world of espionage.

Marcus eyes his captor intently. He knows that if he doesn't give the man what he wants, he'll be dead within the hour in the most creative way he could possibly think of. But then again, who's to say that he will not be dead if ever he decides to give up Simon's location. The man in front of him was as ruthless as the devil. In his opinion, the man is a psycho who's spinning out of control. Yeah, hunger for power does that to a man. With his bloody eye, Marcus squints and regards the man with such disdain as if he was a sickening speck of germ.

When the man in front of him sees Marcus' expression, his lips formed a snarl. He doesn't like being mocked. With that, his foot connected on Marcus' chin, relieving the bound man of another tooth. Tears stung the prisoner's eyes as he takes in the pain and fought to stay awake.

"I do not know where Simon is! I'm telling you the truth! If you let me go, I'll even help you find the son of a bitch!" Marcus says in a pleading tone. Of course, he knows that his efforts to deceive the man in front of him would be futile. Anyone with rigorous covert op. training will never fall for that trick. But there's no harm in trying. At the very least, he would know that he tried to pull every trick possible in his currently very limited book to escape his impending doom.

The man in front of him lets out a laugh. It was not boisterous. It was not even mocking. Marcus could not describe the sound. All he knows is that it made all the hair at the back of his neck stand in attention. Yeah, there's no doubt about it. The man in front of him is pure evil. Even the most seasoned operative would get chills upon hearing the man's laugh and seeing his lifeless eyes.

"Marcus...Marcus...Marcus...I'm disappointed. I would have thought that you would know better than to pull a play like that." The man now trains a long piece of metal with a thick rubber handle. The prisoner's eyes widened slightly at the sight of the weapon. He knows that he would most likely lose his consciousness after the 10,000-electric volt from the weapon hits him. He tries to prepare himself for the shock as the man in front of him started to raise the shiny black metal above his head.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Marcus slowly opened his eye to see where the interruption came from. He saw his captor reaching for the mobile phone across the room. The bloody man tries to perk his ears up to pick up on the conversation. His eyes widened upon realizing that the person on the other side of the phone is Simon.

"Hello? Hello who is this?" And the man paused. His eyes narrowed. "Simon?" Marcus heard him say.

"Where are you?" The man says in a tone with only a faint hint of mockery. From where he was sitting, the prisoner can see in his peripheral that the man's jaws tensed ever so slightly. It was only for a split second and the man's face returned to its normal, emotionless form. Marcus chuckles inwardly because even if he is not able to hear Simon's words, he knows that his friend was yanking the tall man's chains. Only Simon can get that kind of reaction even from the most expressionless people.

He watches the man's expression for faint changes. The prisoner eyes his captor warily as the man's face shows a brief hint of rage.

"Simon I don't know what you're—" and the man stops speaking because of what Marcus assumes to be his friend's blatant interruption. He watches carefully as the man's expression turns into a smirk.

"You gave us no choice. We know you've been working against us." With this, the man chuckled and let out a hollow sound. The prisoner watches again as his captor's eyes flashed dangerously.

"Simon. Why do you always have to make things hard? Wouldn't you want to say hello to Marcus?" The tall man catches Marcus' gaze and fixed him a cold glare. The man's expression hardened and his fists clenched around the table beside him.

It's really like watching a bipolar when Marcus saw the man's eyes sparkle in glee. He turns to the phone in his hand and says, "Don't flatter yourself Simon. There are a lot of talents out there. Nobody is irreplaceable." The man listened for Simon's response and his eyes once again showed the amused and excited spark.

"Oh we found a replacement, alright. Very promising indeed." The man says followed by a low chuckle. "Name's Quinn. Quinn Fabray." He says again with the same glint in his eyes.

"And if she doesn't work out, there'll be another. The work continues." Marcus hears the man say with such finality and coldness that it shattered all his hopes of escaping.

The prisoner looks up just as his captor put down the phone. A renewed energy just like that of a madman's is radiating out of the man wielding the weapon intended to punish him. The madman in front of Marcus regards him with cold eyes once again. And when he raises his arms, this time, there was no longer a phone to provide interruption.

A crack resounds across the room accompanied with a faint hint of light buzzing sounds emitted by the cattle prod. There was a short sizzle of electricity making contact with flesh. And Marcus' world turns into a dark oblivion.

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><p><strong>AN 2: Please review. Oh, and I'm overwhelmed with the hits. Squee! This is my first fic. and I'm just so excited.**


	2. Chapter 1: Burned

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

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><p>"Covert intelligence involves a lot of waiting around. You know what it's like being spy? Like sitting at your dentist's reception area 24 hours a day. You read magazines, sip coffee, and ever so often, someone tries to kill you." – Michael Westen<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

Warri, Nigeria.

Quinn Fabray stands on the corner of the busy street, dressed in her signature skinny jeans, boots and v-neck tee under a black leather jacket which shows off her athletic form nicely. She looks at her watch through the black aviators she's worn for too many goddamned years. _'What the hell is taking so long?'_ It was so tempting to just up and leave but she figured the CIA folks at Langley wouldn't be too pleased with that move. With a sigh, she resigned herself into standing under the smoldering heat.

Suddenly, a shiny black Mercedes Benz pulls up in front of her. _'Finally.'_ the blonde thought as she waited for someone to step out of the vehicle. A tall, burly man emerged donning something that looks like a mohawk. She chuckled inwardly as she remembered her Navy SEAL bestfriend, Noah Puckerman. If it weren't for the machine gun trained at her, she would have asked the black man if his hairstyle was the 'hip' thing in the country. "In!" the man half-yelled at her. With a tight-lipped smile to the vendor on the street, she stepped into the waiting vehicle.

'_You would have thought that a car this nice should have been very comfortable.' _she muses to herself while being sandwiched between two guys pointing automatics at her. It wouldn't have been a problem any other day because those were the perks of being a spy on mission. But she just really wanted to get the job done, go home, and have some fun at the nearest five star hotel she could find at the States. The heat from the outside, combined with the none-too-fragrant smell of both men and the cramped car really irked her. And an irked Quinn Fabray couldn't just sit there without opening her mouth to blurt some sort of sarcasm.

"You know, Mercedes makes an SUV now. Big backseat. It's great. Surprisingly affordable too." she says in a tone dripping with sarcasm. The man on her right, the one with the weird looking sort-of mohawk, just looks at his goon partner and mutters some unintelligible gibberish which she's too annoyed to try and decipher. They laugh at her and she gives them her best fake smile. _'Oh, joy.'_ she thinks, and mentally prepares herself for the entirety of what would be a very long ride for her.

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><p>After almost being pressed into a pulp in the cramped backseat, the vehicle finally pulls up in a nice looking hotel. She was ushered into the entrance of Warri Grand Hotel where a guard opens the door. They stepped into the elevator and when they reached the floor, she was led inside a hotel room.<p>

On the couch sitting and wearing a red shirt under a black tracksuit was Borris, a wannabe warlord that she was supposed to meet and hopefully seal the deal with.

"Welcome!" the stout man approaches her and reaches out to shake her hands. The blonde offers him a wide smile and shakes his hand in return. "Miss CIA." he says as he shakes her hand vigorously. It took all of her not to grimace and wipe her hands after he decided to let go.

"No, no, I don't work for anybody directly. That's why I get to do stuff like give you $750,000 to stop blowing up oil refineries." He laughs (that sounds more like a bark to her) and she gives him a laugh of her own with the same brand of pretension. Somehow, she managed not to roll her eyes at his back when he turned around. _'Oh, joy.'_

He offers the couch and she quickly says hi to all the bodyguards surrounding the place. _'Seriously? How many bodyguards does he need? Freaking wannabe warlord.'_ The stiff men just gave her suspicious glances. When she reached for the back pocket of her pants, the sound of guns cocking was heard and on her face were gun chambers too many for her liking.

"Whoa there! Easy! Just taking out a map." she says in an amused tone as she raises her other hand while pulling the piece of map to show that there wasn't any other intention. _'Dramatic idiots.' _she thought, as she fought the urge to roll her eyes at them.

Quinn placed the map on the table and pointed to the red circle at the middle "You guarantee security for this oil field. That means no fires, no explosions, nobody falls into the swamp and gets eaten by an alligator."

"You mean crocodile." Borris corrects her with a cocky smile. _'Great. The idiot wannabe is hitting on me.'_ she internally grimaces. "Yeah, I mean crocodile." she answers with a fake sweet smile.

"We agree?" the spy asks him. "Yes." the fat man replies and slides a piece of paper towards her.

She eagerly reached for the paper. _'Finally.'_ Wanting to get it over quickly, the blonde started to reach for her pocket when she remembered the earlier dramatics of the wannabe bodyguards. "I am now reaching into my jacket for my phone so I can get this man his money." she warns everyone. "See?" as she holds up her phone to prove that it was not some deadly weapon. She then turns to her phone and quickly dial the numbers she was trained to memorize.

How Quinn wished she hadn't.

"Hello?" a disembodied voice resounded from the other end.

"Yes, I have the wire transfer information. The ABA number is 0210010175—" Quinn's perfectly shaped brows furrowed as she was interrupted by the voice on the other side.

"It's off. We got a burn notice on you. You're blacklisted." the man says in an even tone.

It took the blonde a few seconds to register exactly what she heard the man say. Her brows furrowed further and her usually calm face turned into a frown. She wanted to shout and scream obscenities at him, but she prided herself as an agent that always kept cool. Quinn swallowed audibly and forced herself to say something.

"Excuse me?" was all she managed to force herself to say.

"I'm sorry." the man says and the click of a receiver being put down was heard.

At that moment, hundreds of things raced into the blonde's head. She cannot really make any coherent and complete thoughts. But from the swarm of ideas and feelings rushing through her, she managed to pick confusion, fear, and panic. _'What the actual fuck?'_ she thought, heart beating wildly.

'_I am being punked. That must be it. Burn notice my ass. Or maybe there was some sort of mistake. I will get the fucking idiot fired for his incompetent ass.'_ She thought as she tried to convince herself that this wasn't happening. Hoping against hope that the bastard she just talked to was pulling some sort of belated April fools' on her.

"Is there problem?" Borris stood up and asked her after she has gone silent.

'_Fuck! I forgot about him!' _she curses inwardly and hits the redial button.

"No. No problem. Computer mix up. PC. Mac." She gestured wildly with her hands trying to placate the man and herself as well. She turned her back from the wannabe warlord as the phone on the other end started ringing.

"Hello?" This time, a female voice answered. Quinn's brows would have burrowed further if it was possible. _'Fuck! Oh fucking fuck!' _she thoughts as her palms start to sweat.

She swallows the lump in her throat. And finally manages to exhale a shaky breathe.

"Put your boss on the phone right now." she says through her gritted teeth. The blonde's hand clutched the phone rather tightly while her other hand was clenched into a fist.

"I'm sorry. I can't help you." the woman on the other end says in a tone that would have annoyed Quinn if it weren't for the fact that her life was about to ruined. And not to mention, she still had Borris behind her waiting for a wire transfer that may never come. The threat of being killed in cold blood by the men inside the room if she failed to deliver was enough motivation for her to start speaking again.

This time, in a more urgent tone she says, "I have a wire transfer number 0210010—"

Click.

The audible shut of the phone resonated in her head. Blood rushed into her ears and her head starts to pound with the realization that she was utterly screwed. At that moment, Quinn knew that she had two choices. Either she accept her fate and die in the hands of the fat Nigerian wannabe warlord that is Borris or use her spy training to deflect Borris and his fleet of thugs, go back to America and try to make sense of what happened.

She is Quinn fucking Fabray. Of course, she chose option two.

She closed her eyes as she slowly inhaled and exhaled to calm some of her nerves. There is no hope in salvaging this mess if she would burst into tears. She cannot do anything about the burn notice right now. In fact, she cannot do anything about it until she's able to go back to America and sort the fiasco. But here, in Nigeria, she can do something. In the cutesy hotel room of Borris and his mindless baboons he calls bodyguards, she can do something.

Armed with her spy training and favorite aviators, recently burned spy Quinn Fabray lets out a nervous laugh as she started to count before she turns around. '_One, two, three, four...five...'_

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><p>Thirty minutes later, Quinn is out of breath as Borris' bodyguards beat her as a substitute for an interrogation. Borris was on his phone, muttering furiously since the blonde informed him that she was trying to steal from him.<p>

"You bitch! You think you can steal from me?" Thud! As he hits her on the thighs with a resounding kick.

'_Ow, shit! That one hurt. Maybe I should have thought of another lie. Damnit!' _Quinn thought as four men continued to kick her repeatedly while lying on the floor. Now she has to continue on with her escape plan. She figures it's time to move phases.

"I've got the money!" She shouts trying to get her voice above all the kicking and beating and shouting.

"Enough! Enough! Pick her up!" Borris' angry voice resounded in the hotel room and his bodyguards immediately stopped hitting Quinn.

'_Oh, thank god. Maybe I should stop calling him a wannabe after all.' _the blonde mused as she felt temporary relief wash over her as the beating and hitting stopped. But pain surged once more as the goons lifted her up roughly to face Borris.

Quinn stood face to face with the angry man whose lips were curled into a snarl. She regards him carefully, as if trying to measure how much she was able to fool him. She squints with her good eye and finally decides on what to say. With one last careful thought, the burned spy formed plans on her mind on calculating what Borris wanted to hear.

"I've got the money, it's not here. I could take you to it, though." She pauses as she tries to steady herself and suck in enough air to continue her sentence.

"I was gonna steal it and blame it on you guys. It's not personal, okay? It was just what I was gonna do." She says breathlessly as words tumble on each other.

Upon seeing the look on Borris' face, she quickly adds, "In twenty minutes, you'll have your money." She looks up at him again and says "I promise." in the most solemn face she could muster with her busted eye. The wannabe warlord eyes the blonde intently, trying to make his decision.

Finally he says, "Take her." And his merry band of goons shoved Quinn out of the hotel room and into the waiting elevator.

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><p>When she exits the elevator with the same bodyguards that sandwiched her in the car, she decided it's time to get some action to her plan. The ex-spy dragged her feet and grunted as she was half carried into the lobby.<p>

"I'm gonna be sick." She says but the one with the sort-of-almost mohawk just continued to drag her across the marble floor.

"Wait! Wait! I'm gonna be sick, I need a bathroom!" She says in a firm tone. And as if to emphasize her point, she uses her feet to stop the men from pulling her. When they were forced to stop, she says "I'm gonna be sick." once more to get them to believe her. Mr. Mohawk only eyes her with a glare and started to pull on her arms again, more forcefully this time.

"You don't understand!" Quinn says, flailing her hands so that they would be forced to stop again.

"I'm gonna be sick!" She half shouts.

"In the Mercedes! You understand?" She adds as an afterthought. The men gives each other uneasy glances as if mulling over the decision. With that, she hurls on Mr. Mohawk's shoes in order get her point across.

"In the Mercedes!" She repeats. "Blood everywhere!" She continues, desperately trying to convince them to take her to the bathroom.

This seemed to be the deal breaker and she found herself being turned towards the direction of the bathroom. _'Idiots.'_ She thought devilishly before letting herself be dragged into the bathroom.

As the one with the weird mohawk enters the bathroom first, Quinn wasted no time in gathering her strength in her hands to smash the guy behind her into the adjacent wall. The blonde knows that she has to take advantage of whatever little time she's got. So carefully, trying not to break the bones in her fingers, she once again grabs the back of the thug's neck and pushes his head forcefully, shattering the tiles at the impact.

After a quick look to make sure that the man was knocked out, she runs hurriedly towards the other bodyguard and hits him full force with her body. When he momentarily loses his balance, she grabs the machine gun he's been holding and brings it down to the back of his neck. The blonde quickly threw the gun away from the man and grabs him by the shoulder. Using all her upper-body strength, Quinn hurls the man into the mirror with an impact so strong that the glass shatters. But being thorough as she was, the ex-spy holds on to the goon's shoulders and brings his face down at a nearby sink, effectively knocking the man out.

She quickly straightens her clothes and makes a beeline for the handgun of the bodyguard she smashed the bathroom tiles with. The blonde opens the door, making sure that the impromptu wrestling did not catch any unwanted attention. She then limps towards the lobby and tries to look as normal as one with a bloody nose could.

Finally she was able to go out of the exit, undeterred. With her senses now on alert, she takes a quick survey of her surroundings. More goons were littered outside, but they didn't seem to care because they were having their 'relaxation' time. Quinn knows she has to be careful because if they saw her without her previous escorts, it would be 'killing' time.

She spies (no pun intended) a man getting off a motorcycle. Without any second thought, she grabs his helmet and quickly pushes him out of the way as she revs the engine.

"Sorry! I'll leave it at the airport!" She calls out to him while she puts on her aviators and guns down the motorcycle at a neck breaking speed.

The blonde careens into the busy street with the black Mercedes hot on her tail. They continue zigzagging through throngs of people. Shots rang out as Borris' men tried to take her down. It became an added incentive for her to go faster and go from left to right then back again in order to dodge the bullets.

The car continued to chase the motorcycle in the crowded market, trying to gun it down every so often. Suddenly, luck comes for the motorcycle and its driver as they hit a particularly narrow part of the market where a sedan would never be able to go through. The cycle happily took the advantage and kicked dust leaving the sedan in its wake.

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><p>Quinn finally managed to get herself and the sputtering motorcycle into the airport. The guards flag her down and she jumps from her borrowed transportation and proceeded to remove her aviators and helmet.<p>

She quickly pulled her passport out to show it to the men guarding the passenger plane. They took a quick look and sent her to the plane. She half walks and half limps towards the plane as she tried to find her seat. Once she found her seat, the blonde collapses on the cushion just in time as her vision started to blur. The last thing she heard was the faint voice of the captain asking her if she was okay.

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><p><strong>AN 1: Okay, so this idea has been bothering for a few days now. This is my first fic. so please be kind! Don't forget to leave reviews/opinions/suggestions/comments/smiley faces/violent reactions. Faberry next chapter, I promise!**

**A/N 2: For those who are familiar with Burn Notice, where do you want their location to be? New York, Miami, or Lima? I'm kind of on a dilemma with that one. Chapter 2 is halfway written, I just don't know where the location should be.**

**A/N 3: I have the story planned out in my head. I know some will be worried that this might not be finished or anything like that. But I promise that if you guys will be patient with me, I promise to finish this. **


	3. Chapter 2: Declined

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

**A/N 1: Oh wow. Another update. Your reviews and story alerts prompted me to post this. See? Reviews equals faster writing. Enjoy!**

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><p>"When a spy gets fired, he doesn't get a call from the lady in HR and a gold watch. They cut him off. They make sure he can never work again. They can't take away his skills or what's in his head, so they take away the resources that allow him to function. They burn him." – Michael Westen<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter 2<strong>

Thud!

A rather strong kick to the butt pulls Quinn from her sleep. She expected to find herself still on the plane where she's blacked out, being asked to vacate it. Or with some CIA guns pointed at her to take her down to some covert location where she would most likely be spending the rest of her life rotting in an isolated cell. Or maybe, staring at a red-faced Borris who had caught up to her on the plane while being beaten up by the plethora of baboon goons.

But she finally notices the sunlight streaming from a window. She was also lying on something soft._ 'Oh, a freaking bed! Maybe everything was just a dream.' _She thoughts sleepily. When she starts to stretch her limbs, she was not prepared for the rude awakening. Her body was sore all over and bruises covered her pale skin. It was then that she finally remembers that somebody had kicked her awake.

Afraid as to whom it might be, she slowly closes her eyes and counted before turning her head.

'_Stop with the dramatics already, Fabray!'_ She inwardly scolds herself and finally turned her head fully to see the offender.

Amused brown eyes were peering down at her through long lashes. The rather petite woman with brunette hair was smirking at her in a mocking smile. _'Oh, god.'_ Quinn thought. _'She's got the psycho serial killer vibe again.'_ She continued to stare at the woman in front of her and take in the brunette's features.

Smoky brown eyes. Long flowing hair. Bronze skin. Taunting smile. Sexy smirk.

'_Oh, shit. Sexy smirk? Really, Fabray? Really?'_ Quinn thought. _'When did it become let's screw with Quinn Fabray's life day?' _she muses.

"You're a lucky girl! That many bruises, anyone would think you finally found Wolverine and decided to wrestle with him just for kicks." The brunette tells her in a matter-of-fact voice. "God knows how attached you are to that Marvel figure. It's almost an addiction. Makes you a very unhealthy nerd." The woman adds in a tone designed to get the rise out of her.

This succeeds in pulling Quinn out of the monologue taking place in her head and she fully comprehends who is sitting across the bed right now.

Rachel fucking Berry. Psycho. Bomb maker extraordinaire. Gun wielding brand of crazy.

And the most terrifying quality of Rachel Berry: Quinn Fabray's ex-girlfriend. Emphasis on the 'ex' part.

'_What the hell is she doing here?' _The blonde asked herself.

And when the blonde voiced her question, Rachel simply looked at her and said in the same matter-of-fact tone, "You were brought here a couple of days ago. The maid got curious and went through your stuff." The brunette paused and the amused smirk crept up to her lips again. "I didn't know you never erased me as your emergency contact." She finishes and smiles suggestively at Quinn.

'_Oy, vey.'_ Quinn scoffed and rolled her eyes.

"Don't flatter yourself. I just never got around to replacing it. I never thought that the day when I'll be in need of an emergency contact would actually come." The blonde says as irritation floods her. What? She's in some cheap motel room with a 5 foot 2 inch brand of crazy standing in full glory. Of course, she's irritated. The blonde ultimately decides that making fun of her ex-girlfriend wouldn't really make her life any worse than it is now.

"Besides, you don't seem too eager to walk away from me." She adds in an attempt to rile up the smaller woman in front of her. A taunting smile appears on Quinn's lips at the thought of yanking Rachel's chains.

Rachel's eyes narrowed. She walked from the chair in Quinn's bedside to the window behind her. "I see, you're still the same—arrogant, narcissistic, and chauvinist. Good to know some things never change."

Quinn gives her a lazy smile. Oddly, she finds comfort in the familiarity of their banter. At least she's still retained some recognition in her life. The blonde decides to offer a retort, just for the sake of annoying the brunette who throws tantrums that are frighteningly similar to that of spoiled divas.

"And I see you're still the crazy, sarcastic diva I remember." She knows that Rachel hates being called a diva even if her attitude is an exact replica of one.

The smaller woman fixes her gaze to Quinn. "You're the one who's flattering yourself. I needed to get out of Miami anyway. Old associates sniffing around, you know how it works." She squints at the small window before speaking again. "And I wanted to try my hand somewhere else. The crowded city setting is something I've never tried before." She pauses as she walks across the room to sit on the other bed. When the petite woman was able to get herself comfortable, she looks at Quinn with piercing brown eyes and says, "And the maid sounded like you were going to die. I wanted to be there, you know?" Her brown eyes intense with eerie calm. "I wanted to tell you what a bastard you are." The brunette finishes with an edge of bitterness.

Quinn regards her ex-girlfriend carefully. Rachel rarely shows emotions in front of her. It's not something they're used to, seeing that their relationship in the past was mostly composed of gunning people side by side, angry sex and more angry sex. Oh yes, they're most definitely not your average domestic couple. So yeah, Quinn has no idea how to deal with feelings and things that fall in the same category. She looks at the brunette's eyes for a moment and decides to focus on the other part of what her ex said.

"Crowded city?" The ex-spy's brows furrowed as she tries to comprehend the brunette's statement. "Where am I?" She finally asks.

Rachel stands up without looking at her. "New York." She answers. "Apparently, they were instructed to fly you here when you collapsed on the plane out of Nigeria." The brunette continues.

Quinn squints her eyes to survey her surrounding more thoroughly. When she tries to get up, it actually felt like she's in the middle of one of her ex's wildly frightening bedroom games sans the pleasure part. _'Ouch. Ouch. Ouch.'_ The blonde thought as she grits her teeth, pain shooting up from every place in her body. _'Oh joy.'_ The bruised woman mused when her body decided that more pain is necessary. With her slightly stiff neck and bruised-covered torso, she manages to sit awkwardly and savor the funny feeling of blood rushing through to wake up her lower limbs.

After a few more seconds, she's finally able to bring her legs down and her body upright on the side of the bed. She looks back at Rachel on the other bed who's now watching her with a satisfied smirk.

"New York? Why New York?" Quinn asks aloud.

The brunette arches her brow. "I don't know. Maybe because it's home? In a manner of speaking, isn't it?"

The burned spy closes her eyes for a few seconds and tries to battle the telltale signs of a headache. _'Yeah, this day could not go any worse.'_ She thinks to herself. No more job. Don't know why. Dropped in New York like a package. Ex-girlfriend in the room. Quinn's life is absolutely in shambles. She's pretty sure that no other catastrophe will make her feel any worse.

And then Rachel fucking Berry drops the bomb.

"Oh." The brunette says with a sly smile on her lips. Even if the blonde cannot see her, she could already guess that the crazy woman has one more incy-wincy trick left up on her sleeve. The ex-spy closes her eyes for the impact of whatever unholy revelation Rachel Berry would blurt out.

"I called your mom." Her ex-girlfriend says with a devilish smile on her lips.

If Quinn wasn't already fully awake, she is now.

_'Oh woe. Woe is me.'_ She thoughts as her mind echo the word 'mom' over and over. The burned spy sighs and swallows audibly. She really thinks that she has to stop with her drama. She's got way too much Berry on her. That's what she gets when she hangs out with divas that have an affinity for explosives. But then again, maybe she would be less inclined to engage in drama and inner monologues if her crazy ex-girlfriend would stop with the crazy antics already.

"My mother?" She finally asks out loud after a few seconds of silence.

"Oh, yeah." Rachel drawls. "Charming woman, quite amiable. She's thrilled you're home for Christmas." The brunette says, clearly enjoying Quinn's obvious distress.

"Home?" The burned spy questions to no one in particular. Her bare feet make contact on the carpeted floor and she tries to stand up.

"Home?" She repeats again. "No, no, no. I'm not home for Christmas. Not home." She says indignantly. "No, no, no. I'm gonna go." The blonde says with finality as she looks out the window of the motel room.

Her plan is to sort the mess she's in right now. The burn notice. She needs to get herself out of the puddle of disaster she's currently six feet under. And she can't be home if she hopes to accomplish that.

"Leaving?" Rachel says through gritted teeth. The blonde looks at her and sees the brunette pinning her down with a—dare she say—angry stare? Before Quinn can think more about it, the smaller woman continues in an almost whisper, "Yeah. You're good at that." When the brunette realized that the blonde was looking at her intently, Rachel quickly turned her head and looked away.

Quinn stood there not knowing what to do. She is dumbfounded by her ex's reactions. It's like watching a yoyo battle itself with indecision. First, the brunette uses violence to wake Quinn up. Then participates with her in a familiar and somehow playful banter. Goes bitter on the next minute. Lights up when she recounts calling the blonde's mother. And finally goes angry to the news of Quinn leaving.

She's Quinn Fabray. She's had almost two decades of formal karate training, more than one decade of informal beatings at home to toughen her up before that. She's been sent to five continents, combat training here and there. She has a rating on every weapon that shoots a bullet or holds an edge. You can throw her at the Pacific or the Sahara or the freaking Sierra Madre and she'd still find a way to survive. Hell, she just survived Borris and his fleet of baboon goon thugs. For god's sake, she was one of the CIA's top agents making her way up the ladder before some asshole behind a desk decided to burn her.

But for the life of her, she still cannot do emotions. What? She just doesn't know how, okay?

With a sigh, she chose to push the confusion at the back of her brain. They can deal with it later, whenever, maybe never. But now, she has to focus on the task at hand.

Quinn grabs the glass of water at the bedside table to clear her throat and her silence. Ultimately, she decides to go for a half-joke. "Yeah, it's always for the best when my mom and I aren't on the same side of the hemisphere."

The blonde looks at the woman still sitting on the bed. She figures that she might as well tell Rachel of what's going on. They do not have the best history but any ally she could gather now would be better than none.

"Someone's put a burn notice on me, Rach." Upon hearing her old nickname, the brunette looks up at Quinn with soft eyes that lasted for only half a second. It was one of those ninja emotions-hiding thing that they've got going. After that, she was looking at Quinn again in a mix of stoic, surprised and confused. "I have to get back and take care of this now. Or a few cracked ribs will be the least of my worries." The blonde finishes.

The blonde didn't wait for an answer and looked out the window. She saw a blue sedan parked just outside the motel. There are two bored-looking men in sunglasses. The burned spy does not need to have a full view to see that they're wearing cheap jackets and cheap loafers to know who they are. _'FBI.'_ Goes the answer in her head.

"Surveillance. Two man team. FBI." Rachel confirms for her.

The blonde groans, she really has no time to deal with this. She turns to look at Rachel with a goofy smile in place. The brunette's eyes narrowed, knowing what's coming next.

"Rach..." The blonde draws out her name. "Why don't you go run interference for me?" She says looking at the brunette with doe eyes. The smaller woman only crosses her arms and raises her eyebrows to convey her disbelief.

"Rach...please." Quinn says with her toothy smile. When the brunette's firm features turns into a resigned one, she goes in to seal the deal. With an even wider grin, the blonde says, "Just make one of those scenes of yours." She gestures wildly with her hands before continuing, "You know...bite one of them. Set the other on fire." The ex-girlfriend just lets out an audible sigh as Quinn started to head towards the bathroom in her skinny jeans and sports bra. "Just do it in ten minutes! I have to clean up." She calls out when she reaches the shower.

"You're going to owe me dinner!" Rachel finally calls out to her.

Seeing as she really has no other choice, Quinn yells back, "Fine!" as the ex-girlfriend goes to spread her particular brand of crazy on the FBI agents sent to babysit her.

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><p>Most people would be thrilled after being dumped in New York City. What's there not to be excited about? It's New York City. The Big Apple. The City of Dreams. The Hobart of the North. There's great food, great fashion, great sights and great many more.<p>

But Quinn Fabray is not most people. She's had too many years of her life where the job requires her to be cautious. Combine exercised caution with a burn notice and you get a very paranoid camper. And as a covert operative, a city with more than eight million occupants spread out in a very diverse ethnicity is a waking nightmare.

Americans, Africans, Asians, Australians, Europeans. Too many races to watch out for. Too many skin colors. Too many accents. It's a very crowded city, not very ideal to a recently burned spy for everyday living.

So with a sigh, Quinn scans the crowd once more through her black aviators before making her way through it. She is greeted by the hotel's doorman and she quickly makes her way to the receptionist at the spacious lobby where a soft instrumental music is playing.

"Welcome to the Hilton, ma'am!" The black-haired woman sitting behind the desk greets her with a show face.

Quinn reaches in her jacket pocket for her credit card and passes it to the receptionist. "I need a room." The blonde says with a smile.

The receptionist hits some keys on her computer and looks up. "We've got a suite on the 12th floor overlooking Times Square." She says with smile.

Quinn tilts her head as she tries to explain her 'preferences.'

"Hmm...I don't want a view." She says in a light tone. "Facing the wall, something with no windows. If you have it." The receptionist in front of raises her brows to contemplate if the blonde woman was joking. Quinn looks thoughtful for a few seconds and quickly adds, "Far from the elevators, close to the exits." The receptionist is now looking at her like she's grown another head. Working in a New York hotel just fills her life with surprises.

Knowing how weird her requests must have sounded, Quinn offers the woman a cheeky smile and adds, "Only if you have it."

She figures she must still have it in her to draw both man and woman with her charismatic smile. So when the receptionist looks at her with a shy smile and started to hit the computer keys again, she gives herself a congratulatory pat in the back. In her mind, of course. The woman seems to find something similar to what Quinn wants and proceeds to swipe the blonde's credit card.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

It was the sound of the machine announcing error of doom. Quinn closes her eyes and waits for the verdict.

"I'm sorry, do you have another card?" She hears the lady say in a polite tone. "This one was declined." The receptionist tells her.

The burned spy resisted the urge to hit her forehead. Instead, she settles for a forced smile. _'Of course it's declined. They really went all out. Fucking hell.' _She thoughts. Through gritted teeth she repeats the lady's last word, "Declined?"

'_Shit.'_

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><p><strong>AN 2: I know this chapter doesn't contain much but I didn't want the Faberry part to be overwhelmed by the next scenes. Please leave your reviews. I've never been to New York so I don't exactly know the workings of the city. If you want to see something, leave a review or message me. I've already finished the next two chapters and are currently proofreading them. Just send me your reviews and I'll click the upload button. *wink wink***

**A/N 3: Thanks to jomarch05 and Quinnessence for inspiring and encouraging me to write a story of my own. Kudos to both of you!**


	4. Chapter 3: Welcome

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

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><p>"I was wondering when the fun would start." – Fiona Glenanne<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

After leaving the Hilton with all credit cards sticking out of her wallet, Quinn is at the end of her wits as she sits in front of a bank employee. Really, it wouldn't take a lot for her to just smash the guy's computer and slap the bejesus out of him.

"I don't care what the computer says. I want my money from my account." She says once more in a controlled voice in an attempt to hide her rising temper.

"I understand that ma'am. I—" The man stops in mid-sentence when the blonde fixes him a glare she usually reserves for interrogation. Quinn figured this is an emergency situation and using her death glare is warranted. It seems to do the work because the man visibly shrank in his seat. "Let me check with the manager." The employee says in a shaky voice as he stands up.

Tapping her fingers on the desk, the blonde looked over her shoulder to see the guy talking to his manager. Quinn tries to take a peek on the computer but quickly retracts her head when she hears the employee make his way back the table. She smiles sweetly at the guy when he finally takes his seat.

"All we know is that the account is frozen." The man tells her. _'No shit, Sherlock. Why do you think we've been sitting here for the past hour, _Einstein_?'_ She thinks to herself. The blonde raises her eyebrows and fought the desire to yell 'bloody idiot' at the man's face. _'Is it so hard to tell me something I don't know?'_ Quinn asks herself in her head.

As if reading her thoughts, the man turns his gaze at the computer monitor and continues, "The code is government related."

The burned spy closed her eyes and grimaces internally when she heard the words 'government related.' Right. What did she expect? She's burned. That's spy speak for 'totally fucked.'

The man takes in her expression of defeat and proceeds to tell her, "If you care to discuss this with the police..." He trails off with a smug smile on his face.

After resisting the sudden urge to wipe the conceited smile off the employee's face with a well-placed kick to the jaw, Quinn stood up and exited the bank.

'_Oy vey.'_

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><p>Ex-spy Quinn Fabray is still fuming when she stepped out of the bus and made her way to Central Park. She's quickly reaching the end of her rope. First, she's woken up by a rude psycho that is her ex-girlfriend. Then she finds out that her bank accounts are frozen and her credit trashed. And finally, she knows it's only a matter of time before her mother contacts her.<p>

'_Goddamned Berry for calling my mother!' _She thinks. It's quickly becoming her favorite pastime to add foul language after her ex-girlfriend's name.

A teenager approaches her to give out some fliers. How appropriate, it was about the end of the world. Psshh. What are the odds?

After quickly finding a payphone, she dials her handler's office number. "Hello?" She hears on the other end.

"I need to speak with Will Schuester." The blonde says.

"I'm sorry, there's no one here by that—" Even before the secretary behind a desk she's picturing finishes the sentence, Quinn immediately speaks in an urgent tone. "He's my case officer. I need to speak with him."

"Ma'am—" The lady on the other end says in an attempt to interrupt Quinn.

"I know the protocol. I know you're just doing your job. But I don't have access to a secure line." The burned spy says trying to keep her voice even.

"I'm sorry Ma'am but—"

"This is Quinn Fabray! Just put Schue on the phone!" Her voice rising as she runs her left hand through her short blonde hair in utter infuriation.

"Ma'am, I can't—"

At that, the burned spy finally loses all her cool, the day's events catching up on her. "He's my handler! I worked with him for eight goddamned years!" Quinn finally bursts out, not caring that she's attracting attention from a few passers-by.

"There's no one—" The lady on the other end tries to say in a half-hearted attempt to placate the person yelling at her.

The blonde, however, will be having none of it.

"Please." She says in a significantly calmer tone. "We trained together. There's a photo of him with Idina Menzel and Taye Diggs that he keeps on his bottom drawer. He mixes his own hair gel. He has his own recipe for that, can you believe it? He has a shirt framed in his office with a print that says butt chin on it." The tired burned spy draws out a long breath in an attempt to cool herself down.

"He's a friend, okay? Just please let me speak to him." Quinn says in resigned tone.

"Ma'am, I'm sorry, but there's really—"

"I cannot express enough how urgent this is!" The blonde says as renewed exasperation rushes through her. "Just put him on the goddamned—"

Click.

"No! No! Don't you dare hang up on me!" She says to the beeping phone. The blonde sighs.

"You hung up on me." She finally says in a defeated tone.

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><p>Figuring that there's virtually nothing she can accomplish by being on other end of the phone, she settled herself to finding the address to The Security Inc. where a friend works. If she's going to be forced to stay in New York, she might as well scour the city for old associates. Determined reach the end of her burn notice, the blonde knows that she has to at least scrape some cash together.<p>

And that is how Quinn Fabray found herself standing outside the private security firm's corporate office. She sighs and puts on her best show face as she enters the building. The blonde sees a woman behind the reception area. The burned spy calculated her moves and decided that the best play would be to approach the receptionist.

"Hi." Quinn says in a friendly tone before removing her aviators and looking at the woman through captivating hazel eyes.

The receptionist flashes her smile before replying, "Good afternoon, do you have an appointment?" The lady in the suit asks her while looking at the monitor.

The blonde takes her time in pinning the woman with an intense stare before replying smoothly, "As a matter of fact, I do—" she looks at the woman's nameplate and continues, "—Jen."

Quinn considers it a success when an imminent blush appeared on the woman's cheeks. But just for good measure and bragging rights, she leans forward to touch the receptionist's forearm. When she sees the lady's lips quiver while looking at her shyly, she decides to continue on with her plan. Satisfied that the woman was now thoroughly distracted and holding her gaze, she flicks a pen from the table, sending it to the floor.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the blonde says. "Let me get that."

"No. It's okay, I got it." The receptionist was already bending down, cleavage in prime view.

If it was any other day, Quinn would have really enjoyed the spectacle. But right now, she was too busy looking at the monitor from her peripheral trying to pick out names. She found one that had just the right time for a meeting with the right person on schedule.

_'Tierrainney Maples.'_ She mentally repeats. _'Who the hell names their kid that? How do you even pronounce it?' _Her gaze settled back to the front just as the receptionist looks back up at her with a flirty smile.

"My name is Tierrainney Maples, I believe I have an appointment." She says to the woman behind the desk, crossing her fingers that she got the pronunciation right.

The receptionist looked at her computer to find the name and makes a phone call to confirm the meeting. "Yes. Suite 450." She says while handing Quinn a visitor's pass, making sure to touch the blonde's hand.

The burned spy wasted no more words and turned towards the elevator leaving a dumbfounded receptionist behind her.

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><p>When Quinn reaches the spacious office, she shows the secretary her pass. The woman motions for her to sit down while she knocks on the door behind. A muffled voice telling the secretary to let 'Tierrainney' in is heard. With a grateful smile to the secretary, she steps towards the open door for her 'meeting.'<p>

"Ms. Maples, what can I do for you?" A black haired woman in an expensive looking suit voices without looking up.

"Guess again. I have a better name than that." The ex-spy replies in an amused tone.

Santana Lopez snaps her head up as soon as she heard the voice. Only one person she knows have that cool husky tone that seems to always come with a smirk. Her mouth opened and her brows furrowed as she takes in the form of one Quinn Fabray standing in front of her.

"Wow. What an office." The blonde whistles before sitting down on the couch. She bounces a couple of times before helping herself out to a candy from the coffee table.

When the security consultant recovered from her shock, she finally realizes that there's a burned spy in her office. She stands up, bypassing the blonde and quickly locks the door. When the Latina made her way back, she stood in front of Quinn with arms crossed.

"Quinn, what are you doing here?" She says in a hushed tone. "You cannot be here." The Latina says as she returns to sit back down behind her desk.

"You heard them." The blonde sing-songs.

"Are you kidding?" Santana gestures in exasperation. "You've been flagged on every government list." She sighs and covers her face with both hands. When she puts them down, she studies Quinn carefully. "Why didn't you call me?" The Latina finally asks.

"Would you have seen me if I did?" The blonde asks with raised brows.

"Of course not." The Latina answers, her lips quirking up.

The burned spy only looks at her with an amused smile.

An audible sigh was heard from the security consultant. "Of course I would, Q. You know that." Santana tells her in a gentle tone.

"Well, I didn't really know where to start. Hell, I didn't even know that I would be dropped in New York. Let alone have my bank accounts turn untouchable." the blonde answers her.

Santana regards her friend with a soft expression. Quinn looked really stressed out. She's never seen the blonde in this state ever since they were teenagers. She sighs and turns to the burned spy. "But Q, what the hell? We both know how good you are at pissing people off. But this? This is taking it to a whole new level." The Latina tells the tired woman in front of her.

"It's a mistake, S. It has to be." Quinn says in a weary voice. The blonde looks up at the woman she's grown up with. She has been the one to impart the Latina knowledge about the trade. As a spy, and an FBI agent before that, Quinn was there to give advices to Santana for her security work. Of course, she does this without breaking protocol and not sharing covert US government intelligence with her friend.

She looks at her with pleading eyes and says, "Just tell me what you've heard."

The Hispanic woman lets out another sigh. She really wishes she could help her friend. Working in one of New York's largest private security firm gives her a lot of opportunity to hear things that other people don't usually see on the six o'clock news. Quinn is not a bad person. Sure, the blonde knows a lot of tricks to make people hate her, but she will never do anything to betray her government. But there's really nothing for her to go on right now. Everything was hush-hush about Quinn's 'termination.'

"I wish I could tell you something, Q. But all I've heard is that you're out." Santana says and hold her hands up. "I don't have any details."

"What? I'm just out? That's it?" The burned spy says quickly in a rising tone.

"Q! Calm down, okay? What am I? You're complaint hotline? I really don't know anything about your burn notice." The Latina says in an exasperated tone. "Everything was swept under the rug. It was all quiet and nobody I know has heard anything." The security consultant continues looking at her friend, trying to convince her that she's telling the truth. Because she really is. "Don't you think I've asked around after I heard? Jesus, Q! You're my friend." She finally says while looking at the blonde through unwavering black eyes.

Quinn lets out a shaky breathe trying to compose herself. When she looks up again at her friend, a sheepish smile was in place.

"I'm sorry, S. Everything's just a mess right now." The ex-spy says while scratching the back of her neck. The blonde looks at the Latina in front of her and tried to measure how far her friend is willing to help her.

On Santana's part, she's already knows what that look meant. Her friend is about to ask her for something. Well, to her credit, she's actually anticipated this.

Finally, Quinn looks at her with puppy dog eyes. "S, I'm broke." She says with a pout added for effect. Upon seeing the Latina's hesitation, she quickly continues, "I'm a burned spy. I can't exactly go up to them and say, 'Hi! I used to be on your employee list! Can I have my clearance papers so I can start looking for another job?' If I'm going to sort this out, I need to put together some cash."

"Quinn—"

"Sanny..." The blonde cuts her friend off in an overly sweet voice.

"Q—"

"Tana..." The ex-spy says with an innocent smile.

"Okay, fine." Santana exhales in defeat. Leave it to Quinn Fabray to make everyone give up because of her annoying persistence. "But Q, I don't exactly have wads of cash lying around." The security consultant says to her friend, trying not to give her any wrong ideas. "And I can't exactly write you a check. You're like non-existent as of this moment." She finishes in a serious tone.

Quinn opens her mouth only to close it again. She knows that her friend is right. But she also knows that the Latina can at least do something to help her with her financial problems.

True enough, Santana was looking at her as if to mull over her decision.

"But there may be something, okay?" The security consultant opens her laptop to search for something. "Let me call Puck." She says while looking at her monitor.

"Puck? As in Noah? Noah Puckerman? You still work with him?" The blonde says in an amused tone. She chuckles and sees the Latina glaring at her. So she quickly adds, "Well I was just wondering how you two haven't killed each other yet."

"That makes two of us." Santana says. "And to answer your question, yes, I still work with him." When she sees her friend about to make a comment, she quickly adds, "But not if I can help it."

This seems to shut Quinn up. The blonde settles for simply waiting until her friend finds what she's looking for. She thinks about her bestfriend. She hasn't seen Noah for so long. And even if anyone sends the Spetsnaz after her, she will still not admit it, but she actually misses Puckerman.

As if reading her friend's unasked question, Santana turns to the blonde and answers it for her. "Puckerman's been drinking, sponging off of every rich divorcee in the Upper East Side." She looks back at her laptop to see that she's found the job for Quinn. "He comes to me for freelance work whenever he's between sugar mommies."

Quinn smiles at hearing how Noah's been doing. Some things never really change.

"So what's the job?" The burned spy finally asks.

"The money here is going to be a bit thin, Q." The Latina warns her. Quinn just waves her off, signalling that it doesn't really matter because this is pretty much the only job offer she has right now. "Okay, a guy called the office a few days ago. He said he's in some kind of trouble or something." Santana tells her.

"What kind of trouble?" The blonde asks.

"I don't exactly have details. We talked price and the guy was up and breaking his piggy bank." The security consultant explains. "We didn't get into it. I told him the job was a little small for us." Santana continues. "But the guy sounded desperate and so I told him I'll keep my eye open." She finishes.

"You're all heart, Lopez." Quinn says to her friend in a smiling voice.

"Shut up, Fabray." The Latina answered in the same playful voice. She knows this is her friend's way of thanking her. "So, do you want the job or not?" She asks the blonde just to make sure.

Quinn only nods at her. She really has no other options left. The last thing she wanted to do was thrust herself into the dirty world of espionage and burn notice dossiers without some financial back up, no matter how small. The gig Santana is offering seemed to be a good place to start.

"Okay then, I'll call Puck." The Latina says. She looks at her friend thoughtfully before reaching for her wallet to take out a couple of bills. Santana placed it in Quinn's hand before telling her, "Get yourself cleaned up."

"Thanks, San." The blonde tells her after accepting the money and putting it in her pocket. She turned to leave the office but Santana stopped her.

"Where will you be staying?" The Latina asked. She knows she cannot actually offer the blonde a place to stay. But whether her friend will have a roof over her head or not is something she needed to find out.

The blonde reaches around her neck to take out a gold necklace with a key latched onto it. Santana looked at it and nodded her head in understanding. It was the key to an apartment Quinn bought years ago as soon as she was able to. Santana knew just how much her friend had wanted to get herself and her belongings away from her father at that time.

Quinn offers the Latina another grateful smile before twisting the doorknob. Just when she was about to open the door, the burned spy looked back to her friend.

"Say hello to Britt for me." The blonde calls out over her shoulder.

Santana smiled at hearing her girlfriend's name.

"Will do, Q." She says.

After a thoughtful second, she also calls out to her friend. "Hey!" And Quinn turned back to fully look at the Latina. The Latina smiled and says, "Good luck, Quinn." in a soft voice.

The blonde smiled and nodded.

"Thank you, Santana." And she finally turned her back to reach for the door and exit the office.

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><p>After picking up a few supplies, Quinn made her way through the streets of Brooklyn and entered the apartment she hasn't seen for years. Up until few days ago, she was sending money to her mom in order to pay for the utility bills and monthly cleaning bill of the apartment. Now, she has no idea where to get the money.<p>

She didn't really want to return to her apartment. It seemed foreign to her now. A lot of memories are brought back by the place. She originally purchased it to get away from under her father's thumb when she was still working for the FBI. But he's already dead. And even before he died on a plane crash, when she came to work for the CIA, she just simply never found the time to put it in the market. Truth be told, Quinn's kind of thankful now that she never got around to selling the apartment. The last thing she wanted to do was occupy the guest bedroom at her mom's place.

But she is too tired to worry about all of that right now. All she wants is to get inside her two-bedroom apartment. Maybe eat some of the bacon she bought, then sleep on her comfortable bed.

She puts the key in the knob and pushed it all the way in. The blonde turned the piece of metal clockwise. After hearing the lock click, she used her shoulders to push the door.

The sight that greeted the ex-spy made her stop in her tracks.

Literally hundreds of surveillance photos covered the hardwood floor of her apartment. There are pictures of her on the motorcycle being chased by Borris' men. There are those consisted of her boarding the passenger plane from Nigeria.

Some of the photos were more recent.

Photos of her ducking in an alleyway behind the motel as Rachel distracts the FBI agents. There were even photos of the FBI men themselves strewn haphazardly across the floor.

Too many pictures.

Quinn leaving the Hilton. Quinn stepping out of the bank. Quinn entering the private security firm.

The burned spy's jaw clenched. Her muscles tensed. Fists closing and tightening themselves.

After making sure that there is no sign of any intruder left on her apartment, she turned her attention on the messy collage in front of her. One thing's for sure, whoever was watching is tracking her every move.

There's nothing worse for her than knowing she's being played. Someone is pulling strings.

Who?

Not some intelligence agency bureaucrat in a cubicle, for sure. This is someone with more style. Not FBI either, they're not this creative and they don't do surveillance on their own guys.

This is someone who knows what they're doing.

Someone who wants to send a message: "Welcome to New York."

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><p><strong>AN 1: I can't tell you enough how urgent this is. Review. Yes, you. I really need to know if people are at least interested in this story before I fully immerse myself into it. So review. Please. I need them, they nudge me forward.**

**A/N 2: Okay, so who's excited for Quinn's first side job? Squee! I won't do every side job in Burn Notice but I will be borrowing some of my favorite episodes and connect them with the flow of this fic. So if you have any episode you would love to see, review or message me.**


	5. Chapter 4: For Hire

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

**A/N 1: I would like to thank you guys for the reviews! Thank you so much for letting me know that I spur some interest by writing this story. So now, enjoy this update! Read on!**

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><p>"When faced with a superior force, you can do two things. You can retreat quietly, or you can attack with as much fanfare as possible."– Michael Westen<p>

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><p><strong>Chapter 4<strong>

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The incessant ringing woke Quinn up from her slumber. As her eyes surveyed the surroundings, it took a moment for her to realize that she's in a bedroom. Her bedroom. In her apartment. The events of yesterday came rushing to her half-conscious mind. The blonde groaned when she saw the photographs that littered the floor yesterday were now on her work desk.

After she collected the photographs yesterday, she got to work by scouring her apartment for any kind of bug. When she found none, she spent most of the night and early morning studying the photographs. Dissecting each one. Figuring out every little detail that she can with the angles of the shot. Looking for any kind of clue she can until she passed out on her table, bacon and Red Bull forgotten.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

The burned spy let out another groan.

"What is it with people and rude awakenings?" She questioned the empty apartment before reaching out for her mobile phone. She looked at the number warily. It was the first time someone called her since she was burned. Quinn hit the answer button and opened her mouth to speak.

"Hello?" The ex-spy's voice echoed in her bedroom.

"Hello? Quinn is that you?" A woman's voice answered on the other end.

Quinn closed her eyes tightly. She was expecting this, but not really at eight in the morning when she was yet to sleep. After letting out a quiet breath, she prayed that her silence would make the caller go away.

No such luck.

"Quinn! I know you're there. Answer right now." The woman on the other end says in a shrill voice.

"Hi, mom." The blonde answered in a weak tone. Really, what is it with unpleasant mornings lately?

Judy Fabray would have been a great NSA communications operative. Quinn could be in the middle of the jungles of Afghanistan or interrogating an IRA operative at some covert CIA location but her mother will always manage to reach her. You could bury her head first in the middle of Iraq or abandon her in some freaky land formation at Mars and still her mother would find a way to call her for something.

"Hi, honey. Why didn't you call me when you landed?" Her mom asked.

'_Uh, I don't know? Maybe because I was unconscious?'_ Came Quinn's answer in her head.

"Mom, I'm sorry. There was just a lot of stuff I had to take care of first. How did you get this number?" The blonde finally answered.

"I got it from your girlfriend, Rachel." Her mother explained. "Well, now that you took care of stuff, maybe you can buy some pills that the doctor wrote for me?" Judy continues from the end of the line.

"Mom, Rachel's not my girlfriend." The ex-spy sighed. If there's one person in the world that will beat Quinn Fabray in the game of persistence, it's none other than Judy Fabray. When the younger blonde didn't add anything else, her mother took it as one of those silence-means-yes kind of thing.

"Oh that's a shame. She seemed nice. Anyway, I'll text you the prescription. See you later, honey!" Judy's excited voice on the other end pulled Quinn out of her musings.

Click.

The line went dead before the burned spy can even think of an excuse to feed her mother. Really, what is it with people and hanging up?

Don't get her wrong, she loves her mom. But is it too much to ask for a few moments of peace and quiet before being thrown to the wolves? With another groan, Quinn moved towards the bed. Her back hurt from sleeping at the office chair. She figured that maybe catching an hour of sleep on the comfortable mattress wouldn't be too much to ask. After all, if she overslept, her mom would make it a point to call her again. And again. And again.

With that thought, she reached for the pillow on her bed and started to smooth it. And then she did the only thing she can to release her pent up energy.

"Ahhhhhh!" Sounded across the bedroom as Quinn Fabray proceeded to scream on her innocent pillow.

* * *

><p>"Mom?" Quinn knocked on her mom's apartment door at Chelsea holding the medicine she was asked, or rather, demanded to buy. There were footsteps towards the door before it swung open revealing the smiling form of one Judy Fabray.<p>

"Quinnie!" Judy exclaimed to hug her daughter.

Before the ex-spy knew what was happening, she was already being enveloped on her mother's tight hug with the brown medicine bag between them being squished.

"Hey, mom." Quinn said breathlessly after her mother decided to let go. The younger blonde went inside the pristine apartment and put the pills down on the counter. Her mother was looking at her intently, which scared her.

"You know, you missed your father's funeral. By five years." Her mother said in a scolding tone.

Quinn arched an eyebrow before answering her mother. "Mom, the last time I saw him, he told me I was a disappointment. And if remember it right, he's the one who told me never to come back!" Oh yes, to say that Quinn and Russell Fabray didn't go along is a grave understatement. "So I figured we had one for the books." The younger blonde finished.

"Your father used to be a good man, you know that. I don't know why you two always antagonised each other." Judy answered her daughter.

"That's right mom. He used to be. Used to be." The ex-spy said in a voice dripping with sarcasm to stress her point. "Until he got mixed up with that shady Fabian army guy and things started to go south!" She proceeded to say.

When Quinn got started with her father's shortcomings, it's really hard to make her stop until she was able to vent it all. "Mom, he would just board a plane and not even say where he's going or when he's coming back. He would just send money, but he's never there!" The younger blonde said heatedly. "And to top it all, when he would come back, he's always pissed. Actually, everything pissed him off. I know for a fact that my existence pissed him." Quinn finished panting, gesturing wildly.

After the burned spy's rant, Judy just stood there and looked sadly at her daughter. She's already used to the younger blonde's bitterness towards Russell. Quinn couldn't really be blamed about it. Russell had always seemed so far off back when their children were growing up. It was a lot harder for Quinn to take because she had a few years in her memory when daddy used to be her hero. But like Quinn said, when he got mixed up with some shady individuals, their lives were never the same. Sure, their finances were a whole lot better but their family life suffered for it.

Truth be told, Judy had always wished that one day her daughter and her husband would reconcile after everything that happened. Well, that was when the man was alive. Now that he's dead, she was only hoping for Quinn to forgive her father.

The older blonde sighed. "Okay, I'm sorry for bringing it up sweetie." She said in attempt to calm her fuming daughter. "But can you at least think about visiting your father's grave?" Judy asked Quinn in a pleading voice.

"Okay mom, I'll think about." Quinn said. Her mother smiled. It was the best she would get from her daughter.

After a few seconds of silence, Judy's face lit up. "I've put up the tree!" She exclaimed to her daughter.

'_Uh, oh.'_ Quinn thought. She wasn't exactly planning to stay for the holidays. At least not if she could help it. There's still the burn notice to take care of.

"What?" Her mother asked after seeing the younger blonde's expression. "You're at least staying for Christmas. Right?" Judy has her daughter's every expression memorized. And the one in place right now is looking for an escape.

"Mom...I'm not rea—"

"No, Quinn. You haven't been home for a decade!" The older blonde interrupted.

"But mom." Quinn said as she tried to make her mother understand. How exactly do you tell your mom that your life, everything you built, is on the verge of crumbling, if they haven't already? The burned spy didn't know, so she settled on trying to take the conversation away from her. "Just call Sam. Where is he, by the way?" Quinn figured that maybe her younger brother can save her from Judy's holiday plans.

Big mistake.

"Oh Quinnie. That was another thing I was about to ask you." Her mother gushed_. _

'_Oy, vey.'_ Quinn thought.

"Why don't you give your brother a call and tell him to spend Christmas here?" Judy finished with a smile.

The younger blonde pursed her lips. She didn't really want to start another discussion with her mother. God forbid Judy Fabray loses a battle of pushiness with anyone. And if she didn't get her way the first time, Quinn knows that her mother will use the crying technique. And Quinn didn't want that. She never really found a good defence against mom crying on her shirt.

So with a sigh, the burned spy said the only thing she could.

"Okay mom."

* * *

><p>After saying 'no' ten times to her mother's lunch invitation, Quinn was finally walking towards a bar at the Upper East. She's not very keen to drinking this early but meeting with one Noah Puckerman is never without some form of alcohol.<p>

As the blonde neared the expensive looking bar, she could already make out her bestfriend's mohawk sitting on a booth. She smiled at the scene. Just like old times, Noah was already flirting with a waitress serving his drinks. She shook her head. Some things never really change.

Puck's face lit up when he saw the blonde woman enter the bar and approach the table he's at. "Quincy boy!" He exclaimed as his bestfriend reached the booth.

Quinn cringed at hearing the cursed nickname. "How many times have I told you not to call me that?" She scolded the mohawked man in front of her. "And by the way, hello to you too Noah." The blonde quipped.

Noah smiled softly before turning his lips into a smirk. "What? Would you rather have me call you 'Quincy girl'? Or Q-tip?" He chortles when he sees Quinn's face redden upon hearing the other cursed nickname.

"Ha. Ha. Very funny Puckerman." She chided him lightly.

"You know me, I aim to please." Puck said, smirk still in place. When he saw the blonde shoot him a glare, he held up his hands. "Fine, fine. Hi, Q. Good to see you, dude." He said sincerely and held his knuckles up for a fist bump.

The blonde smiled and connected her own fist with him. After their 'bro' clap and ordering her drinks, Quinn put on her serious face to discuss business.

"So, I'm assuming you've heard about my situation?" The burned spy says putting up air quotes to emphasize her words.

"Dude, who hasn't? When the U. S. of A.'s resident badass Quinn Fabray gets kicked out of the curb, everybody talks." Noah says after taking a sip of his beer.

"Yeah, I figured as much. But what I mean is have you heard anything significant about it?" She asks again.

"Quinn, look at me." The mohawked guy says pointing to himself while raising the bottle of beer. "Do you think anyone tells me anything significant anymore?" He continues and formed half of an air quote with the hand not holding the beer. "I'm not exactly security clearance material anymore." Her bestfriend finishes with another sip of his drink.

"Noah..." The burned spy trails off. She knows that the man in front of her is only half-kidding. He still has some hard feelings left over the stint that got him kicked from the navy prematurely. At least, he got an honourable discharge when Quinn helped him to get out of the fiasco back then.

Noah just waved her as if to say that it's alright. "Look at the bright side, Q. If they wanted you dead, you'd be dead." He shrugged. "And besides, New York is a nice place. Just try to enjoy. Okay, Quincy boy?" He chuckles.

The blonde shook her head at her bestfriend's easy tone. This is why she got along with him. He balances her seriousness with his 'so what' attitude. It's useful every time she got too fixated on something.

"I'm sure you're enjoying. From what I've heard your latest source of income is a rich executive's wife. What exactly do you do to these women, Puckerman?" She laughs when he gives her a suggestive wink.

"Wouldn't you want to know, Q-tip." He chuckles.

"No, never mind. Forget I asked that." Quinn says while raising her hands up in surrender.

"What? The Puckasaurus is popular with the ladies. It gets me a supply of free clothes, an apartment at the Upper East, and mind blowing—"

"You can stop right there, Noah. I don't want to hear about those." The blonde says in a mock shudder.

Her bestfriend just laughs at her reaction and continued to sip his beer. "So, this job that your hot piece of a friend offered, you need me to hold your hand for the meeting?"

"Don't let Santana hear you say that. Or she'll castrate you." She half-jokes to him. "And no, I think I can manage. At least for now. I'll call you if I need any help."

"Alrighty then, Q-ball. You know where to find me. Drink's on me." Her bestfriend tells her.

"Thanks, Noah. See you when I do." The blonde says as she stood to leave for her meeting.

* * *

><p>Quinn waited outside of a luxurious looking apartment building just a couple of blocks from where she met Noah. Not long after she buzzed, the elevator opened containing a frantic middle-aged man.<p>

"Ms. Fabray?" The man asked.

"Yes, that would be me." The blonde smiled at the man.

"I'm Carlos, please follow me. Ms. Lopez told me about you." The man gestured for her to board the elevator. As soon as she got inside, Carlos inserted a key and the elevator closed.

Not long after, the elevator doors opened to a spacious living room revealing lavishness that is usually seen on those interior design magazines. Carlos ushered her to seat in an equally expensive looking sofa while he sat on the opposite end.

"So, Carlos, what exactly is it that you need help with?" Quinn asked the middle-aged man.

Carlos sighed before handing some newspaper clippings to the blonde. "Last month there was a robbery," he started to say while spreading the papers on the coffee table. "Ten million dollars worth of paintings was stolen from this apartment," Carlos says and waited as Quinn looked through the clippings.

"Says here that the police are looking into it." The burned spy says without looking up. "Currently, they're talking to persons of interest." The blonde looked up and spoke slowly, "You're a person of interest." She states with understanding.

Carlos nodded. "The police asked me questions. But I was at home watching TV with my son," he says scratching his brow. "My boss, the owner of this apartment, Mr. Lexington, even talked to them and said it wasn't me. Look, they have my passport and told me not to make travel plans," Carlos continued. "The burglars got in through the door at the stairwell," he points at the door on the far side of the living room. "You see, there are three codes for that door. One for Mr. Lexington, one for me, and one for his head of security. They got in using my code for the security keypad." He finishes.

Quinn sighed. The guy in front of her really looked like a lost kitten. And her gut told her that the man is telling the truth. For most of the part, he just looked scared and not some conniving thief.

"Just so we're clear, if I am to help you with this, we do this my way." The blonde continues, "And if I'm going clear your name and catch the bad guy, I will need half of the money upfront." Quinn looked at the ceiling, she hates asking for payment from people who are in a tight spot. But there are no other options left, are there? Well, unless she wants to live off her mom's bank account or join Noah on his sugar mommy hobbies, she will need Carlos' money to do the job. "I don't know, sixteen hundred dollars?" The ex-spy finished since Carlos originally offered her thirty two hundred dollars.

Carlos just smiled. He reached into his pocket and put the money in Quinn's palm. "Is there anything else I can help you with, Ms. Fabray?" The man asked.

"Yeah, I need to talk to your boss. Is he here? And just call me Quinn." She smiled at the man to put him at ease.

"Okay, Quinn. Yes, Mr. Lexington is in his study, I'll go talk to him." Carlos says as he stood from the sofa.

After a few minutes of waiting, Quinn was led by Carlos to the study where she was greeted by a man that looks to be in his sixties. The man is wearing a fine tailored suit, there are diamond cuff links on his sleeves, the gold special edition Rolex watch on his wrist was adorned with expensive jewels, and he's donning designer leather shoes which Quinn swears is worth more than her fee for this job.

In other words, Mr. Lexington looked just as expensive as his apartment, if not more. He shook the blonde's hand eagerly and motioned for her to sit on the chair in front of his desk.

"Ms. Fabray, what exactly is it that you do? Are you a private investigator? Because you look more like a model to me. Are you sure we have never met at a party?" The man smiled at her.

If there's one thing Quinn hated more than being hit on by men, it is being hit on by men on their way to retirement. She grimaced. She never liked executives who seem to always be having mid-life crisis.

'_Oh joy,' _the blonde thought.

"No, I'm nothing that official. I'm just in town for a while and a friend called in to ask me this favor. Wanted me to look into it, so here I am." Quinn gestures to herself.

"Well, I've already told the police that Carlos would never do it. He's worked for me as a cleaning man for so long." The old man answered.

"What exactly is stolen?" The ex-spy asked, trying to dig for more information.

"Paintings. Most of it was modernist, but there were also some abstract ones," Mr. Lexington answered. "I've never really found enough time to move away from all my real estate business so the paintings were my way of venting out." He laughs for a while and continues, "Of course it's all insured but those paintings were irreplaceable."

"And you told the police that Carlos isn't the one responsible?" The blonde asked.

"It's just not possible," Mr. Lexington says in his seat. "He's worked for me for as long as I can remember." He continues waving his hands, "And you know what it's like, when there's a crime, people always blame the nearest Latino. It just so happened that Carlos was at the front and center."

"But what about the security code?" Quinn questions the man.

"What about the security code? I have three of those. One for me, one for my head of security, and one for Carlos. It was designed that way for security log purposes. It was just rotten luck that the burglars cracked Carlos' code." He finishes.

"Was there anyone new that came to the house? Maybe some business associates or new friends?" Quinn asked.

"No, not that I could think of," Mr. Lexington answered. He smirked and said, "I like to keep work separate from play."

'_Okay, old man. Ew.'_ The blonde thought in her head. Just when everything seems normal, someone have to be obnoxious.

"We already discussed this with the police. If you want, you can talk to Ryder. He's my bodyguard, and he also takes care of my security at home." The old man finishes while sliding Ryder's calling card to her.

"I think I should go do that. Thank you, Mr. Lexington." The ex-spy said as she started to stand up.

The old man reached to shook her hand once more. Holding it a little longer than necessary, Mr. Lexington said, "You can call me Howard."

Quinn forced herself to smile as the man let go of her hand. She just nodded once more before turning her back.

'_Shivers of horror.'_

* * *

><p>Thoroughly exhausted, Quinn made one last stop at a hardware store in her neighbourhood. With her newly purchased pipes, batteries, wires, and some chemical fertilizers, the blonde finally went home.<p>

As soon as she went inside her apartment, the ex-spy immediately checked for anything out of place. You could never be too careful. Especially when you're burned.

Satisfied that nothing was amiss and no wirings were disturbed, she sat down behind her desk and started her 'little project.'

She reached for her phone to dial the same numbers she called on the payphone yesterday.

"Hello?" The same woman answered on the other end.

"Yeah, Quinn Fabray for Will Schuester," she says already expecting the answer.

"Ma'am—"

Quinn rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. He doesn't exist." She says, effectively cutting off the woman's words. "But you tell him, from me, that if he doesn't get in touch with me soon, then I will." Then she proceeded to end the call.

Man, finally having the last word after everyone hung up on her on the last few days felt really, really good.

"Okay, William. Suit yourself." The burned spy says aloud in her empty apartment.

Quinn laid down two small pipes on a cardboard and started connecting them to the wires she bought. She put the batteries on the side while sprinkling them with chemical fertilizer. After successfully putting all the wires in place, she started to duct tape the batteries onto the board. Once that was done, she sprinkled the leftover fertilizer and neatly covered her work with plastic. Satisfied that her creation resembles a convincing pipe bomb, she placed it inside a small packing box.

Of course she will never want to hurt anyone, let alone her handler and friend. That's why there are no explosives in the fake pipe bomb. That's why it's called fake. It doesn't explode. But she figured that with all the security and whatnot, this will surely get some attention from the people upstairs.

The blonde reached for the delivery sticker and wrote a Washington address committed to her memory.

Lastly, she wrote the name of the unfortunate victim of her belated Halloween prank: William Schuester.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Ohh...scary Quinn going out with a bang. She's starting to create some fireworks, so stick with me and let's see what happens. Heavy Faberry next chapter, I promise. So review, okay? Squee!**

**A/N 3: My computer is holding the next chapters as hostage. The ransom it's asking for? Input from the readers. Yes, you saw that right. So now I am compelled to ask, what would you guys like to see?**


	6. Chapter 5: Memories

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

**A/N 1: Mild angst alert! Writing is my way of venting and some scenes in this chapter was a good setting to write slight angst. The opportunity just handed itself, and I needed to let some of my anxiety out. Sorry if you don't like angst.**

* * *

><p>"You know spies, a bunch of bitchy little girls." –Sam Axe<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5<strong>

Spy Quinn Fabray never had any difficulties in getting a reservation. Usually, she could just wave out her platinum card, smile at the host or hostess and there would be no questions asked. That was then, and this is now.

'_Gah!'_

Now, ex-spy Quinn Fabray is almost at the end of her wits. She has been to several restaurants in New York and still couldn't get a hold of a single reservation. She's learning that apparently, charms alone are not enough to get a seat.

'_Why did I ever agree on having dinner with Rachel?'_ The blonde chastised herself after making her way out of the tenth place. She was almost ready to give up and ask Rachel to just think of another payment she could make. _'If only she was a little less of a psycho.'_ And with that, the burned spy just sighed.

As she was making her way to the eleventh goddamned restaurant, a revelation made her face light up. Noah and his sugar mommy! Or mommies! Whatever, they're rich. Maybe her bestfriend could ask one of them for a reservation. With that brilliant idea, she whipped her phone out to start dialling the mohawked man's number.

"Quincy, my man!" Sounded on the other end. Quinn cringed a little but decided to let it go seeing as she is in desperate need of a favor.

"Hey, Noah, do you think you could call one of your...erm...girlfriends? I really need something, and I might literally die if I don't get it." the blonde answered. Yes, Rachel might really kill her if she didn't get that dinner reservation.

She was met with a few seconds of silence before hearing a confused voice from the other end. "Uh, sure. But I thought you weren't into that?"

Quinn's brows furrowed. "Not into what?"

"Well, I didn't know you were into cougars." Noah's voice sounded on the other end.

The blonde's face went beet red at her bestfriend's implication. Thinking about it now, she really should have phrased her question better. God knows how perverted that must have sounded to the ears of one Noah Puckerman.

"Hey, Q, you still there? Don't be embarrassed about it. That was actually kinda hot. Can I watch?" The man on the other line said. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

"NOAH PUCKERMAN!" Quinn shouted at the receiver of her phone.

"Hey! The fuck, Q?"

"You perverted puppy! I wasn't talking about that! I need you to call one of them and ask if they have any reservations or whatever in a restaurant for tonight."

"Oh, geez. You didn't have to shout, Q-ball. You could have just told me that." Noah's voice sounded on the other end. "And as for the reservations, yeah, I think I can find you something. Meet me in ten? Same place as yesterday."

"Thanks Noah! You're the best! Make sure they serve vegan! And I have another favor. We'll discuss it at the bar." The blonde told her bestfriend.

"Now, Q, are you sure you don't want to hook up with—"

"Later, Puckerman!"

* * *

><p>When Quinn arrived at the bar, Noah was already nursing a beer. And as usual, flirting with the waitress. She shook her head as she took her seat on the stool next to him.<p>

"Hey," the blonde said as she bumped shoulders with the mohawked man next to her. She took a sip of her own beer Noah already ordered before asking, "So, were you able to get the reservations?"

"Of course Q-ball, anything for you," he said as he took a swig of his drink. "You know that new restaurant that opened up at 39th?" Quinn nodded her head to indicate that she knows the place. It was actually one of the first ones she visited. "Well, just tell the manager you're Sandra's friend. Turns out, my girl is tight with the owner." He finished smirking.

"Thanks, Noah! I could kiss you right now!" The blonde said in her excitement. With the reservations taken care of, Rachel wouldn't kill her after all! _'Oh joy!'_ Quinn paused and thought about what she just said and quickly added, "But I won't really kiss you right now."

"Damn," Noah said which was followed by a hearty laugh from the blonde.

"But, seriously Q, that favor cost me a lot. Just make sure my efforts tonight would be put into good use," he said with a smirk.

"Pig." Quinn said to which the mohawked man responded with a chuckle. "Anyway, I need another favor from you," The burned spy said, her voice turning serious.

"Carry on, brother."

Quinn nodded and continued, "I need you to set up a meeting between me and Chang."

Puck nodded and turned to tell his bestfriend, "Sure thing, Q. I'll tell him to call you sometime today."

"Thanks," the blonde said as she started to get up.

"Hey, Q-tip! If you change your mind, I'm totally serious about hooking you up with a coug—"

"Shut it, Puckerman!" Quinn said with a laugh as she walked to exit the bar.

* * *

><p>After receiving the promised phone call, the burned spy quickly went home to retrieve a package. The fake pipe bomb that she needed to be delivered. She put it in a backpack and started walking towards a diner near her apartment for the meeting.<p>

As she entered the empty diner, she ordered a coffee from the man at the counter she had come to know as Jose.

The ex-spy didn't have to wait long.

After a few more minutes the door chimed, revealing a well-built Asian man in black silk long sleeves partnered with an equally black leather pants. She could swear every strand of his hair was spiked to perfection. And of course, there are the rings, earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and basically every other jewellery known to man.

Yes, that's Mike Chang for you, her and half the city's favorite money launderer.

'_Some things never really change.'_ She shook her head and smiled. That catchphrase of hers is quickly becoming old.

"Good to see you, Quinn." Mike said as he took his seat beside the blonde. "Heard about your troubles, so sorry." He said while stroking his goatee.

"I'm working on it. Thanks for seeing me." The burned spy said.

"You know me. I have a reputation to uphold for the service industry. I'll always come, deep shit or not."

This made the blonde smile, she really liked money launderers. Criminals and spies both need them. That's why they're the closest thing anybody's got to a yellow pages for shady people.

"So, what can I do for you?" The money launderer asked her as he put down his sunglasses.

"Two things, actually. First, I need you to find me an art dealer." The blonde said while taking a sip of her coffee.

"Art? You don't want that. Very bad place to park your money."

Quinn smiled. Good ol' Mike, always looking out for his clients. She shook her head at the man in front of her and said, "Nope, it has to be art. But not the usual ones. I'm looking for someone who can find me the ones not in the regular market."

At this, Mike Chang nodded his head in understanding. He smiled and said, "Ah. Hot paintings."

"Yes," the burned spy responded.

The money launderer smiled and wrote a name in a piece of paper which he then passed to Quinn. "So what's the other thing?"

The blonde reached for the backpack beside her and slid it in front of the Asian. Mike opened the zipper to take a look. After seeing the small package, he turned with a questioning look to the burned spy.

"I need that delivered to Washington," Quinn said in a low voice. "But I can't exactly pass it through the normal security roster." She continued, "I trust it you know someone who can slip it in? Overnight, preferably."

The money launderer pursed his lips to think. He turned to the blonde beside him to ask, "Nobody gets hurt?"

Quinn grinned. "It may bruise some ego and raise a few tempers. But ultimately, it's no one you know."

With that, the Asian man shrugged his shoulders in acquiesce. "Can do."

"Thanks Mike, I'll owe you." The blonde said as she headed towards the door carrying her coffee.

* * *

><p>'<em>Just have to interview the Ryder guy.'<em>

Quinn started to head towards Mr. Lexington's apartment to meet his security. How she dreaded to be near the old man again. She just hoped that for his and her own good that the guy wouldn't dare pull his charming shit crap at her again.

She was let in by Carlos, again. After a brief conversation that mostly consisted of 'hi' and 'hello,' the blonde was ushered to the security's smaller office.

Sitting down on a simple leather chair was Ryder. Military. It was the first thing that came to the ex-spy's mind. She saw the buzz cut, hard set jaw, and stone cold eyes. She immediately disliked the guy. Guys like him are stoic, single minded and just pure assholes.

"Hi, I'm Quinn Fabray." The blonde reached out her hand to shake Ryder's. As she expected, he made a show doing a once-over at her before pausing his gaze to her proffered hand. Finally, he reached out and shook her hand briefly. Quinn hated these types of machismo shows. She's had her fair share of men downsizing her because she's a female. How she loved proving them wrong.

"So, what can I do for you Ms. Fabray?" The stoic guy asked. She really wanted to smack the guy at this point. The nerve of this muscle-man to sound like he's bored out of his mind.

Quinn clenched her jaws and tried to act like she's not utterly pissed. She answered, "I was wondering on what you could tell me about the robbery. How'd you think the robbers cracked the code?"

The man laughed. It's not the friendly one, it's the smug-I'm-talking-to-a-kid kind of laugh. God, she really is going to have to keep her temper in check. She really hoped this is the last time she will need to talk to Ryder.

"You're wasting your time. We know who did this." The security answered in his full machismo shit glory.

Quinn raised an eyebrow. Was there any information she was not privy to? So she replied, "Oh? Would you care to enlighten me of the latest discovery then?" It's just a subtle jibe at the man, but a jibe nonetheless to let him know that he's never going to boss Quinn Fabray around.

The man narrowed his eyes and barked, yes, barked, "Mr. Lexington has always had a soft spot for Carlos."

That one statement said it all for the ex-spy. This guy is not going to be of any help. At all. As she assumed, he's an ignorant one-track mind idiot. He's already pinning the blame on the nearest Puerto Rican around. She sighed. There's no use in talking to Ryder. It will just be a pointless endeavor, seeing as he already finished the investigation in his narrow mind.

Quinn stood up and offered her last attempt to overthrow the guy. "Well, I see. You've been a very big help." She emphasized the 'big' part to convey the Fabray sarcasm. With a turn of her heel, she executed a storm out that even Rachel Berry would have been proud of.

* * *

><p>"So you're doing this little job of yours?" Rachel asked Quinn as they were finally having their dinner.<p>

The restaurant was packed, Noah's girlfriend should really be well-connected. The moment Quinn mentioned the name 'Sandra,' the hostess almost tripped on her feet in an attempt to clear a VIP table for them. If it wasn't for her ex-girlfriend subtly grinding on her foot, she might have burst out in a loud laugh to express her amusement.

"Yeah. I haven't worked for so little money ever since college." The blonde shook her head as earlier parts of her life passed her mind briefly. She sighed. "College," she repeated.

Quinn pulled out from her mini-reminisce moment when she noticed her ex staring at her softly. She frowned inwardly. She's still not used to seeing bits and pieces of Rachel's heart. So not used to it. Emotions, emotions, emotions. Never a fan of those. So instead of leaving the situation as it is, she resorted to her quick-witted humor in order to diffuse the current circumstances.

"At least when I was in college, my mother cannot pester me on doing favors for her every other hour. Thank you, Berry."

Rachel just arched her eyebrow and gave a non-apologetic shrug to the blonde.

"I highly doubt that your mother calling you is much more of a problem than the two FBI agents watching you."

The ex-spy smiled. At least she knows that Rachel's instincts are still looking out for her. Quinn's small smile turned into a smirk when she realized that this could be another way to infuriate her competitive ex-girlfriend.

"Three, Rach. Three," she said with a smug smile as if to emphasize her point. "One," Quinn said as she fixed her gaze at the bar upfront, centering on a young-looking, guy wearing a blue jacket. "Two," she tilted her head to the right in the direction of a black-haired man, wearing sunglasses. "Three," she pointed backwards to a black man glancing at them from behind.

"You haven't lost your touch, Fabray. But frankly, I don't know how they even got reservations at this restaurant in the first place. I'm actually surprised that you were able to." Rachel said, a little bit pissed that the blonde managed to outdo her again. But of course, there are some tricks on the brunette's arsenal to wipe the self-satisfied look on the burned spy's face.

"Should we shoot them?" The petite woman said in a faux sweet voice.

Quinn paled at her ex's words. She wouldn't really put it past the small brunette to produce a gun and start a shooting spree at the restaurant. FBI agents, beware. She knows what happens when she undermines Rachel's abilities. So to prevent an unnecessary material reaching the late evening news, she decided to stop it once and for all.

"Check please."

* * *

><p>"So, do you need any help?" The brunette asked after she drove the blonde to her apartment. This surprised the ex-spy because before her ex-girlfriend showed up in New York, they didn't really part on best terms.<p>

Rachel seemed to sense the blonde's confusion and said, "It will just be like old times, Quinn."

It wasn't lost to the blonde that this was the first time the smaller woman said her name from the time she woke up at the motel. The way the brunette said the words were in a soft, caring tone that Quinn didn't usually hear from the woman. The blonde didn't really know how to respond so she just shrugged. "I'm not sure yet, I'll give you a call or something. Thanks for the lift." And with that, she exited the car to enter her apartment.

For the smaller woman's part, she knows this is the burned spy's way of avoiding the inevitable conversation. A part of the brunette wanted to kick the blonde in the shin and just beat the crap out of her for what she did. But behind the violent tendencies, Rachel is still a girl.

And that girl can still remember the last time she saw Quinn.

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><p><em>Three years ago. Russia.<em>

"_That was fun," A younger Rachel Berry said as she kissed her girlfriend._

_Quinn Fabray, an American spy looked at the brunette wrapped in sheets. "Yeah, definitely was," the blonde said while kissing the woman in her arms._

_Quinn just finished her mission. With Rachel's help, of course. They have just successfully managed to catch the American traitors who were selling top secret US government military information to Russian operatives._

_Because of the brunette's old contacts at the Soviet, US operatives were able to infiltrate the location where the auction was about to take place. The American spy couldn't have done it without Rachel since she was one of the largest names known in the weapons industry. Naturally, she would know enough people who know people that can provide the information they needed. With proper motivation, of course._

_And there they were, celebrating at a hotel in Europe._

_The blonde was pulled out of her thoughts when Rachel's small hands started to roam under the sheets they were wrapped up in. When the brunette heard the spy gasp, she straddled the blonde and kissed her heatedly in a battle of dominance that almost tore the comforters._

_Their nights or days of passion are always like this. A fight for control. A clash of who's to take the lead. And more often than not, someone usually ended up with an injury._

_Rachel felt the blonde flip them over and kiss her a little bit more tender than usual. The spy studied her girlfriend and buried her head on the brunette's shoulder blades. Smiling, Quinn looked at Rachel before closing her eyes and muttering sleepily, "Can we sleep first?"_

_The smaller woman let out a loud laugh and motioned for Quinn to get beside her. As they lay there side by side, Rachel found herself drifting to sleep while basking in the comfort of her girlfriend's nakedness._

_And that was the last time Rachel Berry ever saw or heard from Quinn Fabray. Because the next morning, she just found herself alone in their empty hotel room. Their old photos were sitting in the trash can by the bathroom door, reduced to ashes._

_No tangible memories left. No notes to hold on to. No goodbye. No nothing._

_It was as if Quinn Fabray had only ever been a dream.  
><em>

* * *

><p>But even after everything that happened, a part of Rachel, a more significant part, wanted to ask a thousand questions to the woman who left her alone, three years ago. The woman, who, after everything, she still cannot forget. The same woman, who, even if she wouldn't admit, was the only person who made her feel something unfathomable—almost inexplicable.<p>

And still does.

But one question had always stood out among the rest: Why did Quinn have to leave without saying goodbye?

She sighed as she floored the gas pedal to escape the place. With one last look on the rear view mirror that reflects the blonde's apartment, she quietly said, "Good night, Quinn."

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><p><strong>AN 2: So I hope that you liked this chapter even if it's a bit shorter than the last one. Please review and tell me what you think! I decided to purchase a new laptop because the other one decided to get freaky on me. And guess what? My new laptop is just as crazy as the old one. It wants reviews lest the next chapters be withheld. I know, right? Can you believe it?**


	7. Chapter 6: Reconnaisance

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

**A/N 1: Here's another update people! From here on, I may update every 2 or 3 days. So, let's sit down and blame it on real life. And enjoy reading, of course.**

* * *

><p>"When you have to get information about an enemy position, you have a choice: you can watch from a distance, slow and safe. Or you can go inside and take a look; quick, but potentially fatal." – Michael Westen<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 6<strong>

When Quinn entered her apartment, she couldn't even begin to understand why she ran away from Rachel like that. And for the life of her, she couldn't fathom the reason why she held her breath until she heard the brunette's car drive away into the dead of night.

She sighed. Rachel and her weird mood swings. One time she wants to rip Quinn's head off, and another she's offering help with piercing brown expressive orbs. The ex-spy just didn't know how to react anymore. And she definitely, absolutely, does not do emotions. But why does it feel as if something is pressing down her heart?

"Confusing," the blonde muttered in the empty apartment while removing her boots.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

"You have got to be kidding me!" She exclaimed exasperatedly. She spared a side glance at the clock. Almost 12am.

"What is it mom?" she said sleepily after pressing the call button, not bothering to hide the impatience on her voice. What? She really has no time for pleasantries. It's almost midnight, and she's just tired and confused because of Rachel and no, she can't be confused because she doesn't do—.

"I'm not your mom."

She was pulled from her inner ramblings as a very familiar voice sounded on the other line. She froze, she didn't think it would be this fast. Wiping away the last of her weariness, she gripped the phone on her hand tightly. This is what she's waiting for. But emotions flooded her and she couldn't even start answering the voice on the other end.

When the ex-spy kept silent, the caller continued speaking.

"So, imagine my surprise when I was pulled from my office and spent three hours being questioned by the FBI about your little present." William Schuester's baritone voice resounded over the phone, and the burned spy started functioning again.

"Oh, about that? Well, I thought it would get your attention. Calling you wasn't really an option, was it?" Quinn's voice dripped heavily with sarcasm and bitterness as she answered her former handler. "I guess it worked now, didn't it?"

"Quinn—,"

"No, Schue! You cannot reason out! You do not have the right to! How many times have I called, just wanting some answers? Huh?" Quinn was already fuming. Her burn notice combining with the events of the evening really pushed her to her limits. And now, she will vent out with the first person she can lash out to. Reason and modesty be damned. "Did you just accidentally erase me from your 'friends list'? Did you lose my number? Or did you just forget that I worked with you for eight fucking years! "

The blonde was panting after her tirade, knuckles white because of how tightly she was pressing them. She heard the man on the line sigh before answering, "I know your upset, but a fake pipe bomb? Really, Quinn?"

"What? Would you have rather it be a real one?

Will chuckled on the other end because of the lighter tone of her voice. He replied, "Look, Quinn, your burn notice is deep. And with things like this, I can't even begin to dig without risking other people in the office."

"Just tell me what you know," the blonde replied in weak tone as she sat on the edge of her bed.

"I literally have nothing to tell you Quinn. I've risked enough contacting you. But all I know is that this is big."

"Well then, just tell me who to talk to or I'm coming there to raise some hell. This time, it won't be just a fake pipe bomb." She's quickly reaching the end of her rope again. She can't get information from anyone, what was she supposed to do?

"Don't Quinn," Will said in a stern tone that he uses only when he's extremely serious. "You are on every FBI watchlist. You move, they pin you down. We're talking manhunt, police, everything—the works."

"What for?" Quinn exclaimed. What did she do? Why don't somebody just tell her what she did wrong?

"I don't know. I honestly don't know. But whoever burned you wants you in New York. I don't know why, who or what. But if you leave, it will be a huge mess." The serious tone of Will made her realize that the people who burned her must really be powerful and up the chain of command to pull this out. "Look, Quinn," her former handler's soft voice echoed, "for what it's worth, I think it's bull. A lot of people are still on your side." Will then added in a half joking tone, "But you pull another stunt like this and I won't be one of them. Take care of yourself, Quinn."

Click.

The burned spy ran her fingers through her hair as the line went dead. She knows it was extremely unfair that she coerced Will into contacting her by using the fake pipe bomb. And she knows that might be the last she'll ever hear from him. But now, she's running out of options. Nothing works, and now she knows that the people who burned her wanted to ice her. Why does it have to be her? She was doing just fine before the burn notice ruined her life, ruined everything she believed in.

Quinn will not admit it to anyone, but she's terrified. She's been terrified ever since that phone call in Nigeria. The burned spy moved her body to lie on the bed, every move an effort for her. She didn't even bother to remove her clothes because of the inner turmoil within her. She stared at the white ceiling and the pristine lights to urge her mind to go blank.

Because for the first time in a long time, she didn't want to think. She didn't want to move because she didn't know what to do.

And for the first time in a long time, Quinn Fabray cried herself to sleep.

* * *

><p>After the burned spy woke up the next morning, fresh from her confusing dinner and discouraging conversation, she started to sift through her former handler's words. Contrary to William's belief, she knows this is something she can work her way through. He had already provided viable information for her. The person or persons who burned her are of high position.<p>

It's an almost impossible task to find the people who burned her, but she knows that there are buttons to press. She'll shake whatever tree she can find, and wait until something falls out. Every piece of information will be crucial. The 'important and powerful' sons of bitches will be her first fishing expedition, and she will find who it is. She's Quinn Fabray after all.

But for now, she needed to earn her resources. And that means working on Carlos' case. With that, she started to clean up and get ready to meet with the 'art expert' that Mike provided her.

* * *

><p>"You come highly recommended, Ms. Fabray," A tall, balding man named Walter asked Quinn as she entered the small but well-decorated office. She looked around as if trying to measure the art expert's worth. The man in front of her gave her a crooked smile while she appraised the place.<p>

'_This would be fun.'_

The man sat down behind his desk and Quinn found her place on the chair in front of it. "So what can I do for you?" Walter asked.

"I'm looking for modernist paintings mostly. Could do some abstract too." She answered him confidently, raising an exquisite eyebrow.

The man tilted his head before saying, "We don't see much of those these days. Most of the specialists are headed out on the East." He smiles at her, and continues, "But there's nothing lost there, most of it are forged garbage anyway. I could give you impressionist paintings, though. That's a sight you can hang around your living room."

'_Ah. Ever the salesman. Sorry, buddy, not gonna work.'_

Quinn gave out a fake smile and tried to pry the man for more information. "That's quite an offer, but most of my collections are focused on modernists and abstracts." She knows she can get this man to crack, so she bit her lip before looking at the art expert. "I would really appreciate it if you could point me to someone who can add to my extensive collection."

She hid her smirk when she saw the man blink and almost drooled in front of her. Yep, she still haven't lost her touch. And the lip-biting still works. "I couldn't give you anything like that right now, Ms. Fabray, but there was a whole collection of exactly what you're looking for just early last year."

This intrigued the burned spy, and she decided to fish for more information. She ran her hand through her hair, only stopping it above her chest. "Interesting," she said. When the blonde saw the man sit up straight, she decided to go in for the next question. "Can you tell me who?"

Walter swallowed before answering, "I wish I remember the name but he's one of those rich land developers. It was all quiet," he paused "but people talk." He finished in a loud whisper.

Quinn forced her eyebrows not to knit together, but her mind was whirring so fast as she tried to process the information given to her. "Did it sell?"

"No, not in his price." The man said with a smirk. "But enough of that, would you like to look at some of the new impressionist paintings I've acquired?"

"I think that we could schedule the viewing for another time, Walter," She says in a sweet voice. "And thank you for the information, you've been a big help. If I need anything, I will keep your name in mind."

Before the man was able to formulate a response, the blonde was already hurrying out the door as pieces of the puzzle connected themselves in her mind. Land developer. Tried to sell paintings last year. At a high price. Didn't sell.

'_Son of a bitch.'_

She clenched her jaw as the last piece of information fell into place. The burned spy knows who did it, and she'll be damned if she doesn't put up a good fight for Carlos' sake.

'_I'm coming for you.'  
><em>

* * *

><p>As soon as the blonde stepped out of the office, she quickly dialled Rachel's number. Weird date or not, she knows that the brunette's help would be invaluable. And besides, putting people in their rightful places isn't something her ex-girlfriend would forgo.<p>

She waited patiently for an answer as the phone started to ring.

"Hello, Quinn," came Rachel's voice on the phone.

"Hey, Rach, listen I need a fav—"

"Actually, I was just about to call you," her ex-girlfriend drawled out. "I have found something that may be of extreme interest to you."

The blonde raised an eyebrow at Rachel's statement. What could the bomb expert have found this time? You know, besides new bombs.

"Well, what—"

"It's better if I show you, come at the Starlite Deli on West 44th. Get here fast, Fabray."

Click.

Quinn sighed. Just when she's starting to think that she's having the upper hand on the phone hanging up business, she's proven wrong.

'_Here we go again.'  
><em>

* * *

><p>Good thing Walter's office was only a couple of blocks away from Rachel's location. A panting Quinn went inside the brunette's car as soon as she arrived.<p>

"Well, what is so important?" the blonde demanded to the brunette looking at her with slight…disgust?

"You stink." Rachel deadpanned.

The sweaty woman's jaw went slack at her ex-girlfriend's declaration. Before she could formulate a retort, the smirking brunette continued, "Try not to damage the upholstery permanently, Fabray."

"Jeez, woman. Did you call me to run four blocks just to tell me I stink?" Quinn stared incredulously at the brunette.

"Partly," Rachel said playfully. "But I also wanted to show you that." And she smiled smugly while pointing inside the small deli in Times Square.

The burned spy followed her gaze to the direction of the brunette's finger. Behind the counter are two of the FBI men who were following her the other day. The baby-faced one had porcelain skin. He looked young, and most certainly didn't look like an FBI agent. Lord knows Quinn didn't look that…exquisite, for a lack of better term, when she was still a Fed. The other man had his legs crossed. He had black hair which was perfectly combed, without a single strand out of place.

Have things changed that much? Since when did FBI agents looked not like FBI agents?

But that didn't matter. On the same line of sight, in between the two agents was one very uncomfortable looking man. A guy with a mohawk Quinn would recognize anywhere.

Noah Puckerman.

The ex-spy sighed. It's not because she's disappointed that Noah was talking to the Feds. She's a spy. She knows how these things work. Of course they'd send some agents after her known associates. At least, she expected that they would do that. So, no, she wasn't really bothered that much by the revelation. She knows she can trust Noah to give them just enough to keep the government off her back.

What she's worried about is the brunette sitting next to her with a maniacal glint in her eyes. Crazy Berry is making an appearance and she better diffuse this before it explodes on everyone's faces.

Before the troubled blonde can speak, Rachel was already reaching out under her seat to pull out a sniper rifle. Quinn's eyes widened at the sight and she really didn't know whether to be amused or terrified.

"Rach…uh…Rachel? What do you think you're doing?"

"Oh, hush, Quinn. It's not like I'm going to kill Puckerman. Even if I never understood why you're friends with him, I won't kill him." The small woman holding the sniper rifle, peering into the scope smiled widely.

'_Uh. Oh.'_ Quinn knows that smile. Yes, Rachel wouldn't kill Puck, but she's still looking for some damage.

"But, I will blow off that stupid mohawk he has running in his head. You know I don't like seeing anything resembling a dead animal."

'_See. Damage. Oh, shit.'_

The blonde panicked. Yes, Rachel is an excellent marksman. Or markswoman, whatever. But Quinn really didn't want to risk the last of her reputation and Puck's head for her trigger happy ex-girlfriend. So she made quick work of yanking the rifle from the brunette's grip and let it down on her side of the seat, as far from Rachel as possible.

"What the hell, Fabray?" Rachel said as her eyes narrowed at the blonde.

"Rachel, no. I highly doubt shooting a target between two FBI agents' presence would help my case. And before you ask, you still can't do it after they leave."

The brunette smirked at the ex-spy before acting her hand to reach out for the weapon. Quinn scrambled to get it away from her ex-girlfriend and Rachel laughed loudly at the blonde's antics.

"Relax, Fabray. If you say so, then fine. I just love it when you're on edge, total turn on." The brunette said while still laughing at the burned spy who was now rolling her eyes.

"But kidding aside, what do you plan to do with that?" Rachel asked as she pointed once more to the three conversing men inside the deli.

"I already expected this. And with Noah's previous stint with the SEAL, it's easy for him to become a target. I really don't care, I know how the FBI works. They were just sent here to babysit me." The blonde explained to Rachel. "But, they might now something. Just a little clue. Who knows? Maybe I can use them as messenger boys."

"If I don't get to wipe the godawful mohawk, do I get the honor of accompanying Ms. Quinn Fabray, then?" Her smirking ex-girlfriend asked.

The blonde sighed. It's not like she had a choice.

* * *

><p>"Hi boys, having fun?" Rachel's sneering voice approached the three men even before Quinn could say anything.<p>

The burned spy heard a sharp intake of breath from Noah as he closed his eyes tightly. She's not angry at him, she knows there's nothing he can do about it. But she decided to get some payback because he didn't come to her in the first place.

"Hey, Puck, what a coincidence bumping on you," the blonde said as she slid her arms across Noah's shoulders. "Would you like to introduce me to your FBI buddies?"

The porcelain-skinned agent raised his perfectly sculpted eyebrows and answered, "FBI? You got the wrong idea, miss."

Quinn smiled. Oh how she missed this game of cat and mouse with undertones behind each word. She decided to indulge in the game just for the sake of joining in.

"Ford outside has G-series plates. You have fast draw holsters hiding beneath those jackets. How much you want to bet that if I reach inside those suits, I'll find two ID's with FBI badges in it?" The burned spy smiled smugly as she saw the two men straighten up a little. Just like her ex-girlfriend, she loves getting people out of their comfort zones. And now, she has the upper hand.

So she decided to yank their chains a little more, just for show. "I don't know about the fashionable get up, though. But besides that, you guys scream FBI to me." Quinn looked around the deli, before saying louder, "They're Feds!"

Rachel chortled at her ex-girlfriend's own method of weirdness. In making people uneasy, they make a good tag team. So the brunette reached into the agent with black hair and crossed legs to tug at his delicate tie. She chuckled when he batted her hands away.

"I'm Special Agent Hummel and this is Special Agent Anderson." The one with the porcelain complexion said while pointing to his black-haired companion. Really, with the ex-girlfriends from hell, they didn't stand a chance.

Quinn smiled. Names. Good start. Rachel on the other hand wasn't finished, she smirked and looked at both men. Her face lit up, her eyebrow raised signifying that she was amused. Now, the blonde waited for another of her ex-girlfriend's crazy revelations.

"Are you guys, gay?"

The blonde couldn't help herself when a dignified snort came out of her. Her shoulders shook in laughter as she looked at the two FBI agents. Their reaction is just simply priceless. Hummel squeaked and Anderson blushed. Even Noah let out a chuckle which he immediately covered with a cough when the bomb maker looked sharply at him.

When Quinn came down from the high of the ridiculous situation, she turned serious. "So, do you even know why you're following me? 'Cause—"

"Don't know, don't care. Higher up the food chain." Special Agent Anderson cut her off before she even finished the sentence.

It confirmed a lot of things for the burned spy. The agents in front of her are sent to babysit her and her activities. The fact that they were just ordered like that with no questions asked meant that the person giving the command is someone high up the ladder.

"Great. Let's call your boss, maybe he can tell me."

"Those aren't our orders. Our orders are to keep tabs on you." Special Agent Hummel said as he started to get up from the stool.

The blonde's temper was quickly rising again. She's fed up of people not answering her and cutting her off before she even started speaking. "Well you give him a message. You tell him—"

"Sorry, this conversation has already gone too long. I do have a message for you though, Ms. Fabray." Special Agent Anderson's voice snapped her attention. "Don't go thinking you have nothing to lose. You still have a lot that can be taken away from you," he finished as he spared a glance at the brunette beside Quinn.

The burned spy's brows furrowed at the suggestion. She saw Rachel frown beside her as well.

"Is that a threat Agent Anderson?" Quinn said in a hard voice.

"No, not a threat Fabray, not a threat at all. Just the truth." Special Agent Anderson answered as he and his partner turned to leave the deli.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: I realize that this chapter didn't contain much action but at least Quinn is moving forwards. And I hope that Rachel's crazy will be enough to give you guys a little bit of happiness. Action next chapter, I promise.**

**A/N 3: I really hope you guys review and tell me what you think. I may now sound like a broken record, but reviews are important. Without them, I get discouraged and unmotivated to write. This isn't a threat, this is the truth.**


	8. Chapter 7: Crazily Yours

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

**A/N 1: Sorry this update took longer. Well, in my defense, it contains a lot of things and I really didn't want to cut the fun.**

* * *

><p>"There's a reason spies don't have a lot of parties. Everybody's got a history with everyone else." – Micahel Westen<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 7<strong>

The minute the agents disappeared with their sedan, the trio went outside to settle their own 'business.' When they got near to where Rachel had parked her car, the small brunette clocked Puck's jaw and would have done more damage if Quinn hadn't grabbed her by the waist.

"Goddamnnit, Q! Why did you have to bring her in?" Noah said while picking himself up from the concrete ground.

On the other side, the violent woman was still struggling against her ex-girlfriend's strong grip so she could lunge at Puckerman. "You son of a bitch! I've been looking for you for a long time! You cost me a lot of money!"

Since they were on one of the back alleys, they didn't care much about people hearing their 'conversation.'

Noah pointed a finger at the petite woman who is still fighting to escape his bestfriend's arms. "First of all, what you're talking about didn't happen officially. And second of all, even if it did, you deserved what happened!"

"That was a legitimate purchase! The US government didn't have any business meddling with my affairs!" Rachel said loudly.

The mohawked man raised an eyebrow and directed his gaze to the blonde still keeping herself between the two angry people. "Seriously, Q? How does your ex-girlfriend figure that out? Legitimate? Are you fucking kidding me? It was a Libyan arms dealer, for god's sake!"

As the blonde stood between the two people who are about to rip each other's throats, she could feel her head throbbing warning her for an oncoming headache. _'Great.'_

"Enough! Both of you, enough!" Quinn Fabray's voice echoed with the blending of two angry mutterings. She raised her eyebrows when both her bestfriend and ex-girlfriend stopped shouting at each other. That's right, the Fabray wrath is always effective.

"Now, can we just forget your encounter and talk about something else?"

The brunette behind her crossed her arms and Noah mirrored the action. How do you make two of the most stubborn people in the world work together?

Just when Quinn was about to say something, her bestfriend opened his mouth. "Q, are you sure it's a good idea you're hooking up with her again?"

"First of all, I'm not hook—"

Rachel behind her sneered and said, "Quinn, are you sure you should work with someone who's informing on you to the Feds?"

Puck scowled, "Now that was a low blow!"

The burned spy sighed, these two are hopeless. But she will make them work. She needs both of their specialties if she is going to finish the business with Carlos.

"Okay, now, can we stop acting like crazy people? Like, for real?"

"Whatever, talk to me when he—" Rachel pointed to the mohawked man with repulsion, "—is not around." And the small brunette returned inside her car, leaving two bestfriends to eat dust.

Noah was the first one to recover from his coughing fit. When he regained air, he turned to his bestfriend and said, "Man, what were you thinking? The only chick you ever lasted more than three months with is a loca!"

The blonde smirked. Noah's right, Rachel was her only relationship that lasted more than three months. Her hook ups usually ended by the weekend, the crazy brunette was an exception.

'_How did we not kill each other?'_

"Now that you're finished being amused, can we talk about this job now?" Quinn turned to her bestfriend.

"Well, sure Q. What do you need?"

"Nothing at the moment, but I'll call you as soon as I have something concrete. I have a good hunch of who the mastermind is, but I will need to get some evidence."

"Sure, Q, whatever you need." Noah looked at her as if considering something. He sighed and turned to his bestfriend. "Q, about the Feds…"

Quinn smiled at the contrite look of the ex-SEAL. She knows he is feeling guilty about it. But she also knows he had no choice. She was once on the other side, and so she understands. The burned spy also knows that Noah will keep on having no choice.

The blonde patted her bestfriend's broad shoulders. "Noah, it's okay, I understand. In my opinion, better it be you than someone I don't know." She looked straight at him and continued, "In my opinion, a friend would feed them enough information to keep them off my back but out of my business."

"Of course, Quinn. That's what I've been doing." Noah smiled, thankful that this didn't even become an issue between them.

"Thanks, Noah. I've got to go, gotta talk to my mom and Rach." The burned spy said starting to walk away.

"Now, Q, about that. I know she's one hot piece of—"

"I already talked her out of blowing your mohawk! If you finish that sentence, you'll waste my efforts Puckerman!" And Quinn walked away laughing hearing her bestfriend's sputtering shouts.

"Q? Talked her out?" "She was gonna shoot off my hair?" "But it's an art!" "She's psycho!"

* * *

><p>After the confrontation between her bestfriend and ex-girlfriend, Quinn went to her mother's apartment. Talking to the FBI agents got her the idea that the people who burned her would have approached her family first. Seeing as Sam isn't in New York, she decided that her mom would most likely be the first stop.<p>

As she raised her hand to knock on the door, she closed her eyes. Visits with her mother are always full of…enthusiasm. If she didn't need to talk to her mother, she won't visit her until next week. God knows just how much of Judy Fabray one person can handle in a span of less than one week.

Readying herself for a hug/tackle, she knocked. When the door opened, it revealed a beaming Judy Fabray.

"Quinnie!" Her mother shouted.

"Oooof!" A strangled sound went from Quinn. Her mother really needed to learn that she is not made of steel. "Mom, good to see you too."

"I knew you were going to come back."

The blonde's brows furrowed. How did her mother know?

"Oh, please, Quinn. I'm not ignorant. Men came here last week, I know you'll ask about that sooner or later."

The burned spy's heart jumped in worry for her mother. Whoever these men are, they could have easily hurt her mom.

"There were men? What did they want? Did they hurt you?" She asked, voicing her concern.

Judy just waved her off to let her know that nothing happened. "They just asked me some questions about you. Asked me if you visit home frequently."

"What did you tell them?"

Her mother looked at the younger blonde, and then turned to avoid her daaughter's gaze. "I told them you always come home and that," the older blonde looked at Quinn softly again, "for you, family comes first."

At her mother's words, the burned spy felt a miniscule twinge in her chest. She hates it that every time she comes home, she remembers her father. She remembers when he used to take her up into his arms and they would play horsey. It pains the blonde that her father changed. He turned from a loving family man to someone she couldn't even begin to recognize. The most saddening thing about it is that she used to look up to the man as her hero. And out of nowhere, he became a stranger.

Quinn sighed. "Mom…"

Judy blinked back what suspiciously looked like tears. The younger blonde was clueless as to what to say. Even if her life looks like some kind of loser sitcom, she really doesn't know how to handle drama. And every time her mom cries, it would be the scene in her life where simulated laughter would be cued at the ignorance of her character.

When her mother recovered, she just waved Quinn off signifying that it was okay. Her daughter need not go through the awkwardness of comforting her mother. After that, Judy was smiling again. And Quinn sees the mischievous glint in her mother's eyes.

'_Uh. Oh.'_

She has a good hunch that Judy Fabray will not divulge what she knows or what the men said. Not unless Quinn does something for her. Something Quinn won't like. But for the sake of crossing her fingers, the younger blonde asks her mother.

"So, mom, what else did they say?" The burned spy asked, trying to act nonchalant and miserably failing.

"Hmm…I'm not sure. I kind of forgot." Judy replied smugly, confirming Quinn's suspicions.

'_Oh shit.'_ Quinn thought. Why does her mother seem like she's just as crazy as Rachel? The brunette's crazy really does go around.

"Quinnie?" Her mother's voice jerked her out of thinking about Rachel.

"Uh, yes?" Quinn asked unsurely.

"Great! Bring her tomorrow evening!" Judy's excited voice said, confusing the hell out of the younger blonde.

"Whoa, mom. Who am I bringing and for what?" Okay, Quinn is starting to get terrified of what she just unknowingly and unwillingly said yes to.

"Quinn! Weren't you listening? I said, bring Rachel tomorrow evening for a dinner. I would love to meet your girlfriend."

So now, the burned spy is absolutely terrified. Were the two crazies conspiring behind her back?

"Mother—"

She was cut off when her mom raised a hand. She might be a grown up woman now, served for the FBI and the CIA, and done god-knows-what missions. But when Judy Fabray raises her hand like that with an eyebrow arched, nobody, not even Agent/Operative/Spy Quinn Fabray can contradict.

The younger blonde dropped her head in defeat and her mother beamed. "Great! I knew you'd see it my way!"

Why are the only women in her life, if not badasses, are crazy people? Santana is badass. Rachel is half badass and half psycho. Her mother is somewhat loving and a bit cracked on the side too. And Brittany is, well, Brittany.

She sighed and said, "Fine mom. But I gotta go now. I need to meet Rachel."

She turned to head towards the door, but before completely closing it, she shouted after her mom, "And she's not my girlfriend!"

Quinn barely heard her mom's chuckling muttering something that sounded like, "If you say so."

* * *

><p>Much later that day, Quinn found herself in her ex-girlfriend's car in a heated discussion regarding the brunette's eccentric views. She managed to get Rachel in the job for Carlos, now she just have to deal with all the crazy.<p>

"I just don't understand why you had to bring a whole goddamn arsenal on your trunk!" The blonde's frustrated voice sounded inside the luxurious sports car.

Rachel looked actually shocked, and feigned hurt, "I'm deeply insulted Quinn. If you think my whole arsenal will fit into this tiny car, then you clearly don't know me very well."

The burned spy let out an exasperated sigh, trying to keep her patience in check. What? The woman is a freaking psycho, okay?

'_Why did I bring her into the job again?'_

"Oh? Forgive me if I don't think bringing a grenade launcher isn't a good idea, Rachel!" Quinn said in an irritated voice.

The brunette beside her just smirked. "You called me to crack some mumbo jumbo high-tech safe, you better be ready to deal with the consequences." The burned spy was about to speak, when Rachel cut her off. Again. "And for the record, the grenade launcher isn't included in the safe-cracking, Fabray. It's like an accessory to me, you know. A girl's got to keep her look."

Quinn raised her hands up in defeat. The woman is truly one of a kind, nobody can argue with that.

"Fine, but when the FBI catches you with that…"

Rachel only raised her eyebrows at the burned spy's hesitation. "Oh please, you know as much as I do, that was an empty threat. They're babysitters Quinn, not covert operatives."

"Fine, just don't say I didn't warn you."

With that, the brunette revved her engine and lurched the car forward making the blonde beside her scramble for the seatbelt.

* * *

><p>Whenever Quinn and Rachel worked, they are a sight to behold. To see both athletic bodies complement each other is something rarely seen. They balance each other. Rachel is a little bit reckless but always with a plan. On the other hand, Quinn always has a back-up and she stops the brunette from going too haywire.<p>

Right now, they're doing their usual 'ritual' before the mission. They're arguing. Again.

"What? You want to scale a ten-story building? Are you insane?" Quinn said in a whisper.

"Oh, why? Do you have an apartment inside? Or do you have some invisibility cloak in your bag that can get us past the guards?" Rachel said in a mocking tone.

The burned spy scowled. She knows they can get past two sleepy guards. Plus, the stairwell isn't too far from the entrance. Now, she just has to convince Rach—.

Quinn let out a pained groan when she saw the oddball that is her ex-girlfriend already climbing her way to the fire exit ladders in the dark of night. The crazy woman would be the death of her. Literally. With another defeated groan, she tensed her muscles to make the first jump.

* * *

><p>After a few false alarms of falling and one-hand hanging stunts mostly by Rachel, they finally reached the penthouse. It's a good thing that Mr. Lexington's apartment is just a floor below, because Quinn thinks the neighbors would hear them soon enough if Rachel doesn't stop her raucous laughter.<p>

Currently, the burned spy is waiting for the brunette to finish the last of her shoulder shaking complete with rolling on the floor antics.

"Quinn! You should have seen your face when you thought I was falling!" The still gasping Rachel said in between snickers.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now, are you done with your private jokes? Can we go down now?"

After a few more minutes of snickers and chuckles, the brunette finally gathered her tools and motioned for Quinn to lead the way.

First stop is the security keypad at the stairwell door. Quinn brought out a latent fingerprint powder and started dusting the surface. As soon as she was done, there were five numbers caught by the powder with fingerprints. She could have asked Rachel to hack the code but that would take longer, and there's no saying if one of the neighbors suddenly wander into the stairwell. Plus, it's one less thing the brunette could brag about.

So doing an internal fist-pump, she started punching possible combinations for the numbers. On her fourth try, the security keypad beeped and disengaged the lock.

When they got inside, she motioned for Rachel to get into the kitchen. The brunette raised an eyebrow when the blonde got out a sandwich from the refrigerator.

"What?" Quinn mouthed, holding the ham and egg sandwich.

The small woman just shook her head at the burned spy's antics. "Let's go." Rachel mouthed back at the blonde. Quinn nodded and led the brunette to Mr. Lexington's study.

When Rachel saw the safe, her face let out a smug smile. She rolled her eyes at the blonde and whispered, "This is it?"

Quinn only glared at the brunette as the small woman started disconnecting the wires and connecting them to her laptop. She studied psychology, okay? Rachel's the one who studied engineering and computer science. Call Quinn to crack some mob boss, fine. Call her to infiltrate an organization, go ahead. Call her to seduce a mark, no problem. But hacking? Nuh-uh. That's Rachel's job.

When the brunette punched the code into the high-tech safe, it immediately opened. And just like old times, they worked simultaneously. Quinn started photographing every single document they in the safe. Didn't contain much, just some old folders. Rachel on the other hand, started to hook back the wires.

After everything was done, it was as if the safe was never touched. When they've cleaned up, Rachel motioned up. To scale the building. Again.

Quinn vehemently shook her head and pointed at the stairwell. She knows that they can bypass the guards. Usually, it is when people go up that guards sit in attention. On the way down? Not so much.

After a few more glaring, head-tilting, and head-shaking, they finally settled on going down using the stairs.

* * *

><p>As it turned out, Quinn was right, two sleepy guards don't pay attention that much to two gorgeous ladies making their way out. And about the security cameras? No problem, crazy Rachel was able to access the building's security to erase any footage of their exit. Easy peasy.<p>

The problem started when they got out of the building, a block away from where Rachel parked her car. The car with the grenade launcher. As they went out the building, they saw a sedan parked on the road just a few yards from the sports car. Usually, it wouldn't be an issue. Cars park all the time. But when said car is loaded with two FBI agents from earlier that day, then that was a snag in the plan.

"I told you, they'd get wind of it!" Quinn whispered at the brunette.

"Oh, please, Fabray. They have a cheap, government issued Ford. We're riding an Italian sports car. Not just any sports car but a Lamborghini Gallardo LP560-4. Who do you think wins? The chug-a-chug or the zooming car?"

"I know we're riding a freakin' sports car but I don't have any energy for a car chase!" The burned spy said, getting irritated again.

"Fabray, it won't even be a chase. And, who said you needed energy?" The brunette paused, and turned to smile devilishly. "It's my car. I'm driving."

Quinn would have face-palmed if it weren't for the grenade launcher in the trunk. So she just followed the brunette and hoped that Rachel would be too tired to follow her peculiar instincts.

* * *

><p>As soon as the ex-girlfriends got in the car, the sedan not far behind started its engine. The headlights flashed, and it signified that it was time to go. Or Quinn thought so.<p>

But Rachel had other ideas.

She waited for the Ford to get closer before starting her engine. And when they did, she quickly sped up, leaving burnt rubber behind. Though, that was still not the end of it. Laughing as the blonde beside her tried to get the seatbelt on, the small woman turned around and sprinted head on towards the approaching government car.

"Jesus! Rachel! Are you fucking insane!" Quinn said as she shouted more expletives at the mad driver.

Just as they were only a few feet from a head on collision, Rachel swerved the sports car violently to the right, sending the blonde in a death hold of her seat. Really, the woman either had a death wish or she just decided to turn her insanity meter up high at that moment.

They heard the sedan braking and its tires screeching. When they sped from it, Rachel screamed, "Not in my watch buddies!" before raising a middle finger for Agent Hummel and Agent Anderson to feast on.

* * *

><p>After a few more shouting (from Quinn) and uncontrollable laughter (from Rachel), they reached the blonde's apartment. Rachel parked her car at the side and pushed her side of the door to get out of the car.<p>

"Whoa! What do you think you're doing?" The blonde still in her seat asked.

"What does it look like I'm doing? I'm getting out of the car. Did your brains get jellied?" And then mocking laughter.

"That was rhetorical, smartass. But why are you getting out of the car?"

"Well, I cracked the safe, didn't I? Seems only fitting that I get a look inside Lexington's treasure shit."

The burned spy sighed. Of course, she would want a look. Rachel is the kind of person who never does a job halfway. After a job, she always follows through. She needs to know the fruits of her services.

"Okay, okay. Just don't go torching my neighbors." The blonde paused. Didn't Rachel have a grenade launcher in the trunk? "Wait! You can't park a car with a grenade launcher outside my apartment!"

With that, the brunette laughed loudly. Probably the loudest laugh Quinn's heard from her that evening. Between gasps for air, the burned spy made tried to make out what Rachel was saying. "Fabray," snicker, "…there wasn't," the blonde narrowed her eyes, "wasn't any," giggles, "grenade launcher." And the small woman let out another round of over the top laughter, complete with fist slapping and bouncing.

The burned spy growled. Rachel fucking Berry upped her one. "You mean that your crazy stunt with the car back there was for nothing? Fucking nothing!"

Rachel answered, still gasping for air, "No, not nothing, Fabray. You had incriminating evidence of a break-in inside your pack."

Quinn couldn't argue with that. But if she'd known that her psycho ex-girlfriend was pulling one on her, she would have been a lot less stressed. Well, she can't do anything about that now.

"Whatever." The blonde blurted out, exiting the car towing her backpack behind and leaving a still snickering Rachel.

* * *

><p>Soon enough, they were inside the blonde's apartment, and were looking on the contents of Mr. Lexington's safe.<p>

The pieces of lots in the documents were all empty projects. Loans that he asked some bank officer to sign. His bank account was thin. The 'real estate' was only pieces of lots scattered about. He had no more business. And then there was a payment in the name of Ryder. And there were also some bank accounts that looked suspiciously new, with activities buzzing in the last month. Empty lots, discontinued projects, loans, payments, and bank accounts.

"Son of a bitch." Rachel suddenly blurted out.

Quinn narrowed her eyes. The documents confirmed her suspicion. Lexington had nothing, his business crumbled after the recession. The art was all he had left, and if he didn't do anything about it, it was all about to come crashing down.

"He framed Carlos." The burned spy said.

"No shit, Sherlock." Her ex-girlfriend retorted. "What are you planning? Because frankly, I just want to torch the bastard."

'_Hello violent Rachel.'_

Quinn knew the brunette would be emotional. The small woman may be a bit psycho on the side, but she cares a lot about people who are being abused by powerful individuals. But she also knows that Rachel will control her violent streak if the blonde promised her that she has a plan to turn everything around.

"I have something in mind, Rach." The burned spy said. "I'll just have to shake Lexington's façade first and see what happens before I bring you guys into this." Quinn continued, "If he decides to be a stand-up guy," the small woman scoffed, "which I doubt he will be," the blonde quickly adds, "just…I'll let you know if I need anything, okay?"

"You better, Fabray." Rachel said before standing up to leave.

As the brunette turned to exit, Quinn grasped the smaller woman's forearm. The burned spy didn't realize it but this was actually the first time she touched Rachel voluntarily since they met again. The Puckerman incident a while ago is not counted, it was necessary to keep homicide from occuring. She didn't expect it, but her chest constricted just a little by the touch. But being Quinn, she decided to ignore it and decided to focus on the brunette waiting for her to say something.

"Uh, Rach, are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

The brunette's eyes showed something akin to hope, and it pulled Quinn from her reverie. "It's just that my mom was asking if I you wanted to have dinner?" The blonde added quickly.

Rachel sighed and turned to hide her disappointment. But Quinn saw it anyway. And her chest tightened just a little bit more. However, the blonde just kept silent, waiting for Rachel's answer.

"I'd love to, Quinn." The small woman said softly.

"Thanks, Rach." The burned spy said in an equally soft voice.

She waited for the brunette to exit the apartment, but Rachel just stood there as if waiting for something too. Quinn decided to speak, "So, uh, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Sure." The petite woman simply said.

The ex-spy raised her eyebrows as if asking what else she missed. When Rachel dropped her gaze towards the blonde's hand still on her forearm, Quinn quickly let go of it. And Rachel laughed, softly this time, a little bit devoid of humor.

"Sorry," the taller woman muttered, averting her eyes. "So, tomorrow, okay?"

"Yeah. Good night, Quinn." The brunette said before turning to leave.

"Good night, Rachel." The blonde said behind the closed door of her empty apartment.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: So, dinner with two crazies, I wonder how that would go. Wouldn't you like to know? Just review, okay? Don't forget to tell me what you think!**

**A/N 3: Sorry for the incy wincy angst, I couldn't resist! **

**A/N 4: I'll put in more Brittana to the mix, yeah? Just wait for it!**


	9. Chapter 8: Discourse

**Disclaimer: I don't own Glee or Burn Notice or any other TV show reference I may use. Don't sue, okay? Also, I own all mistakes from here on. M for later chapters.**

**A/N 1: I know. Sorry. I'll spare you the explanation, but believe me when I say I'm going to see this to the end. Might be some bumps up ahead, and it would seem like I've disappeared, but I assure you, I'm not abandoning this.**

* * *

><p>"You don't need a lawyer, you need a miracle worker, and that's what I am." – Michael Westen<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 8<strong>

Quinn knocked insistently on Carlos' door. It was important that she get to him before he leaves for work.

"Quinn, what can I do for you?"

"There's something I need to talk to you about."

"Sure, come in, come in." With that, Carlos ushered the blonde inside the small apartment where his son was in the living room.

Quinn took a seat in the small sofa at the middle of the small living room. She noticed that the place was tiny, with modest furniture and meagre appliances, but it was tidy. From the way the apartment was arranged, the blonde could say that Carlos is a hardworking man. And she will do anything to keep the man out of jail just because his boss was a lying, thieving bastard.

"Do you want something to eat? Or coffee? We have cereal, would you want that?—"

"Carlos," Quinn tried to interrupt.

"We also have sandwiches—" the man paused for a while, "Fredo, go to your room."

Quinn observed the little boy playing with his army figures. When the kid shook his head in defiance of Carlos' instruction, the burned spy had to smile. The kid reminded her of Sam, her little brother. But she quickly closed her eyes, remembering that every time Sam would be his stubborn self, their father would shove little Sammy. She forced her thoughts away from her own family. The family she's sitting with right then is her priority. She will help the boy's father.

"Carlos, really, it's okay. Just sit down, I need to talk to you."

When the man settled on the couch across Quinn, she began pouring out the contents of the folder she brought. She watched as Carlos sifted through the contents. There was confusion, disbelief, and then betrayal in his face.

"I don't understand…" Carlos trailed off.

"Carlos, your boss is a liar. He tried to pin the robbery on you. All he had was the art." Quinn started explaining. She could sympathize with the betrayal. "And without the insurance payout, everything will come crashing down. He framed you."

"But I still don't understand. I have been working for him for so long."

"Yes, you've been working for him for so long. He had no idea, you were a trusted employee." Quinn looked at Carlos' eyes. "Ignorance will be his excuse, then he'll collect the insurance pay easier, and you get locked up in jail."

Carlos wiped his face with his hands. "What do I do now?"

Quinn had to give the guy some credit. Instead of crying and bawling, he was asking the next plan of action. She smiled, she was already pretty sure that the guy would fight back with the right amount of convincing.

"You can run. Or you can fight." She laid it out. Bluntly, because there was no other way to put it.

"Okay, what happens then?"

"If you run, you can wait out until the statute of limitations burn out. I'm not sure exactly how long, but considering the amount stolen, might be more than 10 years." Carlos was nodding all along the burned spy's explanation. "But if you fight, if we fight, we can end Lexington. Put him in his rightful place. And absolve you from all charges."

"Okay," Carlos went silent for a moment. "We fight. What do I do?"

"Just let me handle things from here, I will keep you updated. But what you have to do right now is not go to work." The blonde was happy of Carlos' decision. She really wanted to get back at Lexington, partly for leering at her. "And keep your head down."

"Okay," Carlos said, nodding again, "I can do that. If there's anything I can do to help, please, tell me."

Quinn started to get up, "Just take care of your son, Carlos. Be safe."

"Are you sure you don't want to eat something?"

Quinn's only answer before reaching the door was a small shake of her head and a soft smile. She will save this man.

* * *

><p>"San." Quinn said as Santana picked up the phone.<p>

"Quinn?"

"Yeah, it's me, listen, can I come by your office?

"Why?" The other woman on the phone asked suspiciously.

"C'mon San, I just need to talk to you." Quinn chuckled at her friend's hesitance.

"No."

"But San…"

"No, not in the office. Meet me at the coffee shop across the office, you caused a fiasco when the real Ms. Maples came." Santana's voice was full of irritation because Quinn was still chuckling. "Do you know what trouble you've caused? And then there's that receptionist whose heart you broke."

With amusement, Quinn let out a loud laughter. Santana huffed at the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry San." The burned spy stated, still gasping for air. "What can I say? I've still got it."

"Yeah yeah yeah, Fabray. Stop your happy dance because that receptionist is pretty pissed at you. And you can't come here."

When Quinn finally stopped laughing, she answered, "Okay, so what time?"

"Be there in ten." And Santana hung up.

* * *

><p>Entering the quaint coffee shop, Quinn saw that Santana was not yet there. She chose to sit at the corner spot, away from the window but a bit closer to the entrance. Ex-spy issues.<p>

"Are your spidey senses tingling, Fabray?" Santana's voice suddenly startled her.

"Geez. Wear a bell." Quinn said without turning around. But she was then enveloped in a big bear hug. And her first thought was to shove the person thinking it was Santana, but she noticed the blonde hair on the side and paler arms. She smiled and turned around.

"Britt!"

"Q! I missed you! You never come to visit." The woman still hugging her said. She was a little bit taller than Quinn, and she had a bright smile offered for the burned spy. Quinn noticed Santana looking at them interact with a fondness she rarely sees from the Latina.

When the taller blonde finally let her go, she answered, "Sorry Britt, I was really busy. But I'm here now, aren't I?" She omitted the part that she wasn't planning to stay for long. Brittany just smiled.

After the three of them have settled down with their orders, Santana looked at Quinn questioningly.

"So, what do you have for me?"

Quinn slid the folder she showed Carlos early that morning. She watched as Santana flipped through the photos, with Brittany beside her, occasionally peering. She saw the Latina's face turned from confusion, then understanding, then anger.

"What's your plan?" The Latina said as she looked up from the folder.

"Make the son of a bitch's plan bite him back in the ass." When Quinn saw Brittany's disapproval of the curse words, she quickly added, "Sorry Britt. He's a really bad guy." And it seemed to appease the taller blonde.

"So, what do you need me for?" Santana said, raising a delicate eyebrow. "Because I can't really join your 'activities' anymore. Will be kinda hard for my schedule."

"Ah, yes, I know. Office. Corporate woman and all." Quinn smirked at the taunt. "But what I need is to borrow a few 'equipment' San. You know, for my 'activities'."

When the Latina started to shake her head, Quinn opened her mouth to explain.

"Please San, I just need to borrow something. I kind of need to have ears on him."

"A bug?" Santana clarified.

Quinn gave a noncommittal shrug. Spy issues. She was not used on admitting to things that could incriminate her. Santana seemed to understand.

"Fine. But I will need to sign it out, and—"

"San. I'm kind of on a tight schedule right now. I know you can sneak one out without a request. Requests take forever." Quinn smiled at her friend, urging her to give in. "Please. I promise I'll return it this time. Hell, they probably wouldn't even notice if I never returned it." Santana glared at her. "But I will return it. I promise." Quinn held her right hand as if to prove a point.

And just for good measure, the burned spy added, "Besides, don't you want the bad guy to get caught? Am I right Britt?" She said as she turned to the other blonde in the table.

Santana just shook her head when she saw her girlfriend nodding along with Quinn. Her best friend is sneaky. She knew Santana can never say no to Brittany. And besides, the Latina also agreed that the dirty businessman should go down. She just needed further convincing on lending the listening device.

"Tight schedule, huh? Got a date, Fabray?" Santana smirked at Quinn. But she saw a light twitch on her best friend's cheek. And she knew her joke was closer to home. With a devious smile on her lips, she eyed Quinn, "So who's the girl?"

Quinn's jaw dropped. She wasn't expecting for the turn in conversation. But when Santana did, she was caught off guard. And now, she had to spill.

"Dinner with my mom." She looked up and hoped that Santana would just drop it. When she looked up, the Latina was also looking at her expectantly. No such luck. "And Rachel." She muttered, hoping that her best friend didn't hear.

Santana guffawed. She _guffawed_. And Quinn knew she heard. Brittany was just looking at her with an amused smile, also trying not to laugh. The burned spy buried her head in her arms to possibly escape her embarrassment. Santana stopped laughing but started making whipping noises. It was Brittany's turn to laugh. Quinn just groaned and waited for the pair to get over their amusement.

"I told you Fabray. That girl's gonna be the one to tie you. Figuratively and literally." At the sexual innuendo, Santana let out another laugh and Quinn's cheeks flamed.

"Is Quinnie shy?" Santana teased her until Brittany looked at the Latina with look that said 'stop, you've had your fun' and the brunette stopped immediately. It was Quinn's turn to look smug and make whipping noises.

After they recovered from their usual taunting, Santana turned to Quinn seriously, "I'll get you what you need. Just wait here with Britt."

Quinn nodded and watched as the Latina kissed the taller blonde gently on the lips. She was happy that her best friend found someone like Brittany. It was only when with her girlfriend that she saw Santana's softer side.

When Santana walked out of the coffee shop and Brittany turned to Quinn.

"So, what's up with you?"

Quinn just shrugged. "I'm sure you've heard from San, Britt."

"Yeah, I know. But I mean, you, how are you?"

"Coping." Quinn said, not really wanting to divulge anything. It's not that she didn't trust Santana or Brittany, she just didn't want to drag them into her mess. She decided to change the subject, "How's your dance studio?"

The taller blonde brightened at the mention of her studio. "It's really doing very well."

"I'm happy for you Britt."

"I'm kind of happy for you too, Quinn." The burned spy furrowed her brow. Because, she's burned, what's there to be happy about? She waited for the dancer's answer. Brittany had a bubbly quality about her, where she draws other people into looking at the bright side.

"I'm happy that you're home." Brittany smiled at Quinn softly and looked at the hazel eyes. "And you have that spark again."

Quinn must have had a confused expression because Brittany touched the tip of her nose lightly. Something the sweet blonde always did whenever people didn't her point.

"You have that spark again. Like the last time you were with Rachel."

Quinn stayed silent and pondered on Brittany's words. She knew what her friend was talking about. But she wasn't entirely sure if she was ready to accept it. But before she could answer, the doors chimed and when she looked up, it was Santana handing her a small box.

"Careful with that, Fabray."

Quinn smiled as she reached for the box. "Thanks San! I'll return it this time." The burned spy turned to go. She hugged Brittany, muttering a soft "Thanks Britt."

Before Brittany pulled back, she whispered into Quinn just as softly. "Find happiness, Quinn."

* * *

><p>Quinn called Rachel as she was walking towards the other side of the city, towards Lexington's apartment. She knew from Carlos that the old man works from home, so he's pretty much there all day—with his freaky body guard.<p>

She contemplated what Brittany said. But gave up after five minutes, though it still bugged her. She was never good at matters of the heart. She promised she'd ponder about it after the Lexington job.

"Rachel, it's me, Quinn." Quinn said as she heard a brief hello from the other end of the phone.

"Quinn, need help bashing heads?" To other people, it would seem like a joke, but the blonde knew her ex-girlfriend was half-serious. The brunette may be a bit of a psycho, but she was can be serious, especially when it's about helping people who are being taken advantage of.

"Nope. But I need you to plant a bug for me. I'm heading to Lexington's apartment."

"You can't do it yourself?" The brunette's voice was lightly teasing.

"Well, I can, but I figured you'd want some participation in bringing the dirty old guy down." It was true. Rachel had a big heart, not that she'd admit it. But Quinn knew. There is a part of Rachel that goes for the weak. And when the powerful ones overstep their boundaries, Rachel can always be expected to meddle.

"Sure. Where are we meeting?"

"Outside Lexington's apartment."

"I'll be there in five." With that, Quinn's ex-girlfriend hung up the phone.

* * *

><p>"Okay, let's get on with this, shall we?" Rachel started walking towards the building entrance with Quinn in tow.<p>

"Rachel! Rach, wait!" They weren't even in the apartment yet and Quinn's head was already throbbing. God, the woman was so stubborn. "Goddamnit, wait."

"Having trouble keeping up, Fabray?"

"No. But I need you to give me the gun."

Rachel looked at her as though she was crazy. But Quinn knew she had to get hold of the brunette's gun. You know, to avoid unnecessary deaths. Because Rachel can be a bit impulsive. And that's putting it lightly.

"Rach, c'mon. We don't want any more problems in our hand. Just hand me the gun." Quinn said while holding her hand out. "I'll hold on to it. No need busting around waving guns like a crazy person." They were probably crazy. But Quinn decided not to mention that.

"Fine. But if we ever need it, and you didn't give it to me? I will shoot you."

Rachel handed the pocket glock to Quinn and the blonde held it with a triumphant smile.

"So, how are we doing this?" Rachel asked.

"We need to plant it on something that Lexington always carries with him." Quinn furrowed her brows, thinking. "The best bet is his phone. Can you do that?"

The blonde chuckled because Rachel's only answer was turning her back on Quinn and raising a middle finger in the air.

Some things never change.

* * *

><p>Quinn and Rachel were let in by Ryder. He did another once over and the blonde was just barely able to keep Rachel from mauling the guy. He really should be more careful if he didn't want to meet psycho Rachel.<p>

"Carlos is not here." The mean looking man said, blocking them from going further into the apartment. Quinn felt Rachel tensing beside her and smiling a bit too wide. Here they go.

"We're not here for Carlos. It's Mr. Lexington we need to see." Quinn answered before Rachel could rip the guy's head off. Good thing she confiscated the gun. Or else there will already be a dead body then. Kidding. But not really.

"Who is she?" Ryder asked gruffly, and swept a glance at Rachel once more.

"She's with me."

The burned spy and the body guard stared hard at each other in a battle of wills. And after a few seconds, Ryder stepped to the side and pointed them to the study.

"You don't know how hard it was to stand there and not kill the guy." Rachel whispered in her ear. "You owe me, Fabray."

Quinn just smiled and ushered the brunette into the makeshift office.

"Quinn, hello, hello!" A booming voice greeted them. Lexington was already eyeing Rachel. "And who have we here?"

Rachel smiled sweetly at the creepy old guy before holding Quinn's hand.

"I'm Quinn's friend. And sometimes, she makes me come on these gigs of her." Rachel said in a sultry voice. "I love coming with her because of all the...experience." The brunette said, trailing off.

Quinn smirked as she watched Rachel saunter closer to the old guy. She looked at Lexington, and he looked like he was about to have a heart attack.

"There are all these new people to meet." The brunette ran her hands on the guy's front vest, distracting him while she picked the phone on the side of the desk. Quinn watched as Rachel pocketed the phone and stepped back from the dumbfounded man. "Can I use your bathroom?"

Lexington blinked owlishly and nodded towards the direction of the bath as Quinn watched the whole thing with amusement.

"Mr. Lexington. We need to talk about something." Quinn started and pulled the man out of his daze. Rachel was merciless. The old guy looked like her was about to faint.

"Ah, yes." Lexington nodded distractedly. "What about?"

"First, I will kind of need to have your body guard in the room." It was the only way for Quinn to confirm her suspicions of Ryder's involvement. The guy was pretty shady. It wouldn't surprise her if it the guy was an accomplice. Also, it was a good opportunity to get back in the study and put the phone back without arousing suspicion.

Lexington stepped a little bit outside his study and called out to his body guard. Just in time for Rachel to get out of the bath with the phone in tow, which will be their new ears on Lexington's activity. If the old guy wasn't such a perverted man, he would have noticed that everything was a decoy. But well, they just got to thank Lexington's affinity for younger women, it's going to bite him back later.

Rachel sat down beside Quinn just as Lexington sat on the opposite side of the table, with Ryder on his side.

Quinn then scattered the folder across the table and watched out for Ryder's reaction. She was pretty sure of Lexington's involvement. What she wasn't sure about is the extent of his body guard's crime. And then she saw his eyes widen momentarily, a little trace of fear, then he was back to stoic. It was everything Quinn needed to see.

Lexington was flabbergasted and his mouth was flapping open and close like a fish. Quinn just looked at the two men in front of her, smiling smug. Rachel, on the other hand, was another case. The crazy brunette was shaking her finger back and forth, and mouthing 'bad boys.' And Quinn had to say, it was pretty amazing to be working with Rachel again. She was hilarious. You know, whenever the crazy side is dormant.

"You see, Mr. Lexington," Rachel leaned forward to the man, uttering the man's name with a sneer, "You chose to fuck with the wrong people." The man cowered a bit at the brunette's deadly gaze. "Say, if an anonymous source accidentally dropped this at the police station, I'm pretty sure it will raise a few heads."

The man was slightly sweating even in the air-conditioned room.

"What do you want?" Lexington spoke through gritted teeth.

"Simple," Quinn answered, a smirk gracing her lips, "Make Ryder confess to the crime, absolve Carlos from all suspicion. And while you're at it, throw in a nice payout for your caretaker and his son."

"This is ridiculous!" The old guy bellowed. He was red, and Quinn thought briefly if he'd die right there.

"What's ridiculous, Mr. Lexington," Quinn circled so she was on the back of the man, "Is trying to frame a good man. What's ridiculous is that said good man was lucky enough and happened to find someone like me." Quinn moved in front of man and stared him hard. "Because you can't get away with this. Not on my watch. And thinking that you could? That's what's ridiculous."

Even Ryder was a little bit startled at the menacing change in the blonde's tone. Looks could be pretty deceiving. But the body guard was able to recover, he draw his gun from the holster and pointed at Quinn.

"Tut tut." Rachel calmly said from her seat. "Safety's on."

Ryder took a quick glance on his gun. Not quick enough, though. As soon as he withdrew his gaze from Quinn, Rachel was suddenly in front of him. And before he could even register pain, she was already pinning him down on the table with his arm pulled back at a very uncomfortable angle.

"Oh, look at that, safety was off." Rachel chuckled as she let go of the man but kept a firm hold on the gun.

Quinn crossed her arms and made her way beside Rachel.

"Keep that folder, I've got lots more." They turned to go, but Quinn turned around and met Lexington's eyes with another steely gaze. "Don't even think about trying anything than doing as I told you. You don't want to deal with the consequences."

With that, Rachel and her walked towards the door they came in from, Rachel leaving pieces of Ryder's gun on their trail.

* * *

><p>As soon as the pair hit the streets, they went separately to prepare for the dinner at Judy's house. Quinn then called Puck because, well, she needed someone to monitor the bug. They agreed to meet at the diner which was a block from Quinn's house.<p>

"Noah." Quinn nodded as the man approached her.

"Hey, Quinnster!"

Quinn shook her head. Her best friend just never runs out of nicknames.

"Yeah, yeah. Sit down." She pushed a beer towards the mohawked guy and set the radio connected to the listening device in front of him. "I need someone to monitor the conversation, Noah. Lexington is not the kind of guy to take a threat without some form of retaliation. He's arrogant. And I just bruised his ego."

"I can do that." Puck took a sip of his beer. "Is there anything else? You know, besides listening to evil people's plans."

"Nah. Just listen, if there's anything funny, then let me know."

"Okay then," Puck waggled, "How's your little lady friend?"

Quinn tried to keep a poker face since she didn't want to give her best friend more ammo to use, but Puck raised his eyebrow. "Ohh...do tell. I know that look. Spill, Q-tip."

"Shut up." Quinn sighed. "It's just that my mom invited her to have dinner."

"Oh." Puck answered in understanding, waggling his eyebrows.

"Yeah, I better get going now." Quinn said as she stood up.

"Good luck, Q. Don't get shot!" were Puck's parting words as Quinn exited the diner.

* * *

><p>"So Rachel, you cooked this?" Judy beamed at the brunette in front of her, happily eating the vegan lasagne that the brunette brought over.<p>

"Oh, yes. I love to cook during my free time."

"I don't understand why I haven't seen you around so much Rachel."

"Well, I mostly stayed in Miami for the better part of last year. And before that, I was...travelling." In which travelling meant covert dealings.

Quinn, on the other hand, was glad that they haven't obliterated each other in the clash of the crazy. However, it wasn't entirely pleasurable that they hit it off like they were best friends. Her crazy ex-girlfriend and her crazy mother becoming soul mates meant very, very bad things for Quinn.

"Quinn?" Her mother called to get her attention, apparently she had spaced out.

"Hmm? What mom?"

"I said, isn't Rachel just wonderful?" Judy smiled widely.

"Mhmm." She answered indefinitely.

"So, when are you planning to move in together?" Judy continued as if it was a normal conversation.

Quinn choked on a carrot she was munching on, catching a little bit of lump on her throat. God, where does her mother get all these ideas? Rachel thumped her on the back, quite harder than necessary, but did it with a smirk while watching Quinn mischievously. Judy just sat on her seat watching the pair interact with an innocent smile but a Cheshire cat expression beneath her eyes.

"Mother!" Quinn exclaimed after she was done choking.

"What?" Judy answered innocently.

"You don't say things like that!"

"Hush, Quinn," Rachel grinned devilishly from beside her. "Judy asked a valid question, deserves an honest answer."

Quinn face palmed. "Let's just eat."

* * *

><p>After some more embarrassment from her mother and Rachel egging her on, they were able to finish dessert without Quinn dying from asphyxiation. Her mother forcefully asked Quinn to escort Rachel to her car when it was time for the brunette to go.<p>

"Tell your mom thanks for dinner." Rachel said as she settled in her car.

"Yeah, thanks too, you know, for enduring that back there." Quinn said with a smile, trying to lighten the awkward sending off conversation.

"It was nothing. Well, I better get going. Who's monitoring the bug?"

"Oh, Puck's on it." Quinn fiddled with her fingers to let the awkwardness dissipate. "Don't worry, I'll give you a call if something interesting happens."

"You better," Rachel revved her engine, "See you, Quinn."

* * *

><p>Quinn slipped back inside her mother's apartment, only to find Judy sitting on the head of the dining table, looking like she's been waiting specifically. Regardless of whatever occasion, Judy Fabray sitting with both hands in front of her and looking extraordinarily calm was never a good sign for anybody. At the moment, it was not a good sign for Quinn Fabray.<p>

Uh-oh.

"Mom?"

"Sit down." Her mom demanded.

"Is this about Ra—"

"Sit down."

Quinn sighed. No point arguing with her mother. She sat across Judy and waited for whatever bomb it was that's about to explode.

"Quinn," Her mother sighed tiredly, which surprised the younger blonde. Not at all what she was expecting. "This thing with Rachel."

"Mom." Quinn cut off whatever it was. She didn't want to talk about it. "I don't want to talk about it."

"I know you don't. So I'm not asking you to talk, just listen to me."

"Fair enough." Quinn answered. It was as good a deal as she could get.

"You're different around Rachel." Judy started. "Even if I've only seen you have dinner with her, you act the same way when you were a lot younger. You're more carefree, you smile, almost as if you're happy again. Quinn, it's sad as a mother knowing that her child's unhappy." The older blonde smiled at Quinn. "And it makes me worry less because I know that there's at least one person out there who can make you happy."

"Mom, being with you and my friends here in New York doesn't make me sad." Quinn countered, trying to get out of _the talk_.

"Yes. But you're not exactly happy either."

The ex-spy just stayed silent.

"Look, Quinn, I know you think that your job is worth more than anything—"

"Mom, you're my number one." Quinn said cheekily and chuckled.

"Don't patronize me." Her mother deadpanned, and the younger blonde sighed at her failed attempt to redirect the conversation.

"As I was saying, your job is worth more than anything to you." Judy looked her in the eye. "But Quinn, you have to know that this job of yours will not be there forever. I just worry about you sometimes. I don't want you looking back a few years down the road and wishing you've chosen a different one."

Quinn kept her stare fixed on the dining cloth. Sighing and puffing every now and then, searching her mind for something to say.

"Honey, you don't have to say anything." Judy gently spoke after it became apparent that Quinn had nothing to add. "I just want you to think about it is all."

"Think about what exactly, mom?" Quinn finally broke her silence.

"That Rachel may have been the best thing that happened in your life." Her mother smiled. "And that some roads you take, you can't go back from."

Quinn just nodded, contemplating her mother's words.

"Just try and be happy, Quinnie." Judy smiled at Quinn and dropped a kiss on her daughter's forehead.

* * *

><p><strong>AN 2: Okay, so reviews, anyone?**

**A/N 3: Rest assured, the next chapter won't take as long.**


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